


Too Full Of Weeping

by MurielJones



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Discussion of Abortion, M/M, Mpreg, Non-consensual Mpreg, brief mention of torture, discussion of forced abortion, discussion of miscarriadge
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-24
Updated: 2014-02-08
Packaged: 2018-01-02 13:09:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 20,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1057162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MurielJones/pseuds/MurielJones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ezekiel finds a way to send the Angels back to Heaven.  Unfortunately, Sam ends up pregnant.  Cas, Crowely, Dean and Sam must work together to save both Sam and his baby.  Cas and Dean become closer as both struggle with their part in creating this mess.  Destiel eventually--angsty bunches of pre-slash bundled up in loads of guilt until they get there.  And Crowley has a thing for Sam, sort of, its complicated.</p><p>Story is set after S 8 and has implied spoilers.</p><p>Story and chapter titles (1-4) from WB Yeats, Stolen Child. Chapter 5 title taken from Frost, I could give all to time.</p><p>X-posted all sorts of places...but I like it here best :-)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. While the world is full of troubles

“Sammy, did you have to take forever…” my voice trails off, that was definitely Sam’s body, but it was definitely Zeke. “Speaking of taking forever…”

“Samuel is nearly healed.”

“Speaking of taking forever…”

“Dean!” Damned if the angle didn't sound self-important, as though he wasn't healing himself while he was living in Sammy.

“We can return the Angels to Heaven.”

“Crowley said…”

“And you would trust the word of an Angel less than that of a Demon?”

“Now that you mention it …” That is definitely worth thinking on though Zeke hasn’t tried to kill us, ever, that we know of; Crowley on the other hand, is Crowley. Zeke, has, as far as I know, healed, nearly healed, Sammy. “Okay, Zeke, what’s the deal then?”

“We will need the elements of Metatron’s spell.”

And yeah, we can do that, Cupid’s bow, Angel’s grace—plenty of those two walking the Earth—we just need to find a couple of asses who deserve it, now the problem, “Didn't Cas kill the last of the Nephilim?”

“We make more.”

“Make more?” Not that I didn't know that people and Angels could… you know; it’s not like I think of sex with Angels a lot, not much at all, really. Damn, what did that bastard just suggest? Did he really say when it sounded like he said? “Those would be babies Zeke, and I know that Angels don’t give a damn, but one of the few good things left about humans is we don’t kill babies.” 

“Dean,” he fixes his eyes on me in a way that, a way that I hate it when Angels do, it means something very not good is coming, “Samuel is with child.”

I drop my fucking beer; you can’t blame a guy. “He’s what?”

“He’s with…”

“Dammit Zeke, I heard you, I meant…” I can hear Zeke, but its’ definitely Sam’s body that I’m looking at, and this would explain why he’s been so tired, and pissy; second thoughts, pissy is just Sam.

“It was the practical thing to do; I was already in him.”

“But don’t you need his damn consent?” I’m raising my voice at an Angel, who possessing my brother; slow down Dean—this is not going well. We’re Winchesters, what made me I think Sam being possessed by an Angel would go well?

“I have his consent.” Zeke has the nerve to look confused, “You helped me obtain it.”

Not going well. Definitely.

“I am leaving.” At least he sounds like Zeke, but coming out of Sammy’s mouth that sentence is always disturbing. 

“You said,”

“Sam is almost healed, the Grace in the baby will sustain him.”

“Zeke!” He is getting ready to leave; I cover my eyes with a crooked arm.

“I will return for the Samuel’s baby.”

And, dammit, Zeke is gone. He could have said when he'd be back.


	2. And anxious in its sleep.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean heads out of find Castiel....and somewhat annoyed Castiel.

“Cas?” I saw him in here. “Cas?” a little louder. 

“Dean, indoor voice.” Cas must be spending too much time baby-sitting. He is stacking soup cans in Aisle 2; and sounds genuinely annoyed. It’s hard to be sure though; he is making a point of having his back to me. “I’m busy.”

“Yeah, well, Cas this is an emergency.”

“Dean, allow me the dignity of work.”

God, some things about Cas don’t change, now he’s being holier than thou about packing store shelves instead of acting holier than though about being god, God. 

Aisle 3. “Cas, this is a real, actual, human emergency.” Now the store manager is looking at me. Cas is stacking pickles; the pickles look kinda good. “Cas.” I am on the receiving end of a pained look from Cas. “Ok, Steve, this is an emergency.”

Cas, sighs at the pickles. “You return here after a month Dean, more than a month since we talked. I’m really busy.” He walks off with his cart and stickers, and dust rags, aisle 4, and begins stamping--sale 10% off—stickers on everything.

“Cas…” At least he glares at me, briefly.

“It’s Steve.” He is looking intently as his cans.

“Steve. This is about Sammy.” 

Cas moves onto aisle 5 and changes to marking Ketchup bottles—15% off—with red stickers. “Sammy is your family.” He is literally tight lipped. Cas’, Steve’s boss, has moved out from behind the counter, and is a little closer than I would like.

“Cas, you’re..” 

Cas doesn’t give me time to finish that sentence. He moves over to 6, arranging bags of candy and jerky. I could really use jerky. “Cas, look, I know…” 

“No you don’t!” Cas turns aisle 7, dusting, dusting, the cans of fruit. How long do they keep those in these places anyway? His manager is too close for comfort. She doesn’t look like she’s packing.

I jerk my head towards Cas, “Old friends, you know.” Waggle my eyebrows, I can be quite charming.

“You should leave.” That seems to be all she has to say to me.

Cas doesn’t back me up.

I leave.

Only I don’t. Cas is family, whether he likes it or not, and family sticks together. I wait around the corner in the Impala. His manager leaves at seven in the evening. I wait till eleven, the neon light turns off, the store lights dim, no Cas. Eleven thirty, no Cas. He is still on the top of the Angel’s shit list. I check on him. I leave Baby where she is, no sense in drawing action. It’s hard to pick the lock as quickly as I need to in the light of the Gas station. Gun drawn. It looks quite in here; but from where Baby is parked I would have seen Cas’ leave down the alley if he did, which means he is still here, which means he is in trouble because he didn’t go home. I push the door to the storage room—staff only—open. Cas is asleep on the floor of a storage room in a gas-n-sip in Rexburg, Idaho. 

I find myself biting my lower lip as I let a moment pass. He looks peaceful. “Cas.” I crouch down, I touch his shoulder to shake him gently, no point in frightening him. “Cas,” I doubt that he can hear me, “Cas, Come home. Don’t worry about anything, it’s not all about Sammy, just come home.” He shifts in his sleep. I look away for a moment, wonder about the best way to wake him, he is small now, but I can’t carry him sleeping to the Impala—but it would be some sort of revenge for every time he zapped us places. I shake him again. He stirs and looks up at me with innocent blue eyes. For a man, Angel, man who has destroyed heaven and nearly earth, who helped undo the future created by God, he looks innocent. “Castiel, come home.”

We drive in silence for a couple of hours then, “Dean, why do you want me back?” 

It’s a long story to start telling in the middle of the night. But I tell Cas the truth, “Family.”

He looks though me, he shouldn’t still be able to look through me, I thought that was an Angel thing. Driving Baby in the middle of night from Rexburg, Idaho to Lebanon, Kansas, taking a sip from the flask I nearly promised Sammy I had put away forever—not that my promises will mean anything to him—ever again, I try to tell Cas why I did what I did to him, why I threw him out of our home. Forever later I finish with Ezekiel leaving. I wonder how long Cas has been asleep. I may have left out a few things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey lovely readers, thanks for making it through two chapters :-) Comments and advice is always appreciated.


	3. And whispering in their ears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Cas come home--and find out that Sam and Crowley have been working together on reversing Metatron's spell. Dean and Cas talk.

“Sam, Sammy, you home?” Nothing.

Cas is looking concerned, I wonder if that deeply furrowed brow is his, or something left from Jimmy.

“Crowley? Hey, Crowley!” At least he can’t have gone anywhere.

Sam looks tired, walking up the stairs from Crowley’s dungeon, his hair is thinning. Normally I would give him shit about that; but it happened to one of Lisa’s friends. But the smile he gives to Cas; oh, Crap, fuck, shit. Cas doesn’t know what I told Sam—about Cas’ leaving. Cas moves forward looking horribly as though he might hug Sam, and Sam freezes. Half a dozen, maybe ten expressions cross Sammy’s face, then Sam steps back, and nods a little suspiciously at Cas, his smile a little strained, too long a pause before anyone speaks, “I thought running off for a half-assed reason was my thing.”

Cas looks at me. Sam looks at me. Damn.

“Sammy, oh, Saaammmy.” Crowley.

“Shut up Crowley!” Sam and I— simultaneously. 

“Oh, Sammy, you promised me donuts.” That’s Crowley, not shutting up.

I know there is an annoyed look on my face. I’m allowed an annoyed look on my face in my own home.

 

“Dean,” Sam looks exasperated, at least I’m used to his bitch faces, I image they will only get worse now, “I can explain.”

I raise my eyebrows at him—he had better be able to explain.

“I bought donuts…”

“Sam!” I just don’t like it when he lies. Why would I think he is lying? Sam’s so good at lying I have trouble with his tells. Why in the hell would he be telling me about buying donuts? What I want to know is what the fuck he is doing hanging out with a demon? A demon and donuts? Lisa said that pregnancy makes you stupid, but this stupid? Or maybe it’s not the baby, maybe it’s just Sam. Fuck, Sammy, fuck, you’re going to have a baby.

“He bought his usual two dozen donuts, and I asked politely for one, before he eats them all again.”

“Shut up Crowley!” Sam and me again.

“Crowley! Your damn donut is coming.” Then Sam turns on me, clearly still annoyed, “Crowley and I have been doing some research, Dean.” Then he looks at Cas, “There may be a way to reverse the spell, something that Metatron didn’t write down.”

I shouldn’t feel angry, it’s not like Sam is consorting with a demon, again, but he should have mentioned to me what he and Crowley were doing, invited me even, we all know I wouldn’t have done it, but still, you know. And then there’s Sam’s donut addiction. What the hell is that about? Damn.

“Where’ve you been by the way Dean?”

Was it necessary to be that bitchy? I guess he is pregnant. Shit, fuck, Zeke got Sam pregnant. 

Then Cas, thank god for Cas, “He came to get me.” 

Pause. 

“Sam…” Oh, god, shut-up-Cas. “Could I have a donut? I’ve developed a liking for them.” 

Crowley yells from the basement, “So has our little Sammy.”

In the basement with donuts: 

Sam has the donuts, and yeah there are a lot of donuts, that works, and Sam, Cas, Crowley and me are sitting in the dungeon. I could do with Crowley being a little less chatty, but he and Sam have a “fox hole” thing going. Long story (and between Sam and Crowley it is plenty long) short, what Zeke said was true, we need all the same ingredients, and Sam and Crowley are working on the wording for the thing. Oh, and we might, or might not, no one is sure yet, need an Angel to recite the incantation. Great. And, since Sam seems to think he is running things here, he thought I could find Cas (done, score one for me) and Cas and I could track down some Angels, and pick the best candidates for, you know, things. 

Now comes the problem. “Problem is,” Says Sam, looking serious (and more tired), “is that Crowley and I haven’t found any references as to where there might be Nephilim.” Sam seems unconcerned about killing it—kill it like you would kill any other monster.

“I believe I killed the last one.” 

Yeah, I know that Cas, except it’s not quite the last one. 

 

I can’t do this, I absolutely cannot do this. I leave the room.

 

“Dean,” Sam is coming after me, tired or not he still moves fast, “What the fuck man?” His hands are spread out, he looks like he could reach out and shake the truth out of me. Maybe he should shake it out of me; but he doesn’t. This is Sam so he tells me all about it. “I thought you would be down with this, thought this was all what we all wanted.” He has this-is-Sam-concerned-and-confused-all-at-the-same-time look spread over his face, “Is this about Crowley?”—insert horrified face—“There’s nothing between me and Crowley.” Now he’s on to puzzled-and-worried. “I didn’t mean to exclude you. Dean?” Yeah, well, you did. I need to find the nearest door so I can walk out.

 

Not in the basement with donuts:-

Its later, much later, that Cas comes to find me, sitting on my bed, drinking from the flask that is definitely making an appearance back in my daily life. He sits down too close to me, and I can’t move away. I don’t know which Cas this is, lost Angel Cas, or caring human Cas, avenging Cas, or broken Cas, or real Cas, who always has been somewhere in between.

“Dean,” Cas clasps his hands together and looks ahead, he looks like he is praying when he does that, “You once told me that people lie to protect others.”

He just waits for me. 

“Sam, Cas, I’m protecting Sam.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! :-) How am I meant to spell donuts? my spell checkers don't agree!


	4. Give them unquiet dreams;

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Cas make a deal with Crowly to get his co-operation and keep Sam from finding more out about the Nephilim. Dean and Cas talk...more. Lots of angst and guilt, lots!

Not in the dungeon with Donuts:-

 

“Cas,” I can’t help pacing, “do we kill him?” 

Cas looks up from his perch on my bed, taking a small break from studying his feet. 

“Dean, you’re not telling me something.” 

“I already told you Cas, I let Zeke posses Sam, and then Zeke takes off, with all this talk about reversing the spell; and he’s coming back for Sam.”

Cas looks at me, waiting. 

I can’t help it, I glance it him. “It’s bad, Cas.” He looks at me some more. “Trust me, ok?” Why the hell should he trust me, I throw him out of the bat-cave, and then I fetch him back, and now I tell him I let an Angel I had just met posses Sam—although I didn’t have much choice on that one. 

Cas nods. “Why is Ezekiel coming for Sam?” 

He’s right, I’m not telling him, and I’ve no intention of telling him.

“Sam’s pregnant.” It just comes out.

A slightly concerned looks crosses Cas’ face, “You got Sam pregnant?” He is still sitting quietly on my bed.

I cover my face with my hands. “He’s, we didn’t, that’s not, I’m, brother, he’s a, its’ not…”

“Oh.” Cas isn’t nearly as worried as he should be. “Ezekiel.”

 

I have my back to Cas, I can feel Cas watching; I had thought that was an Angel thing. I sit down close to Cas - I take my comfort where I can - and swallow another swig. Lisa, she wouldn’t have known what to do, but she would have pulled me into her arms and I could, you know, let her hold me; stupid time to miss that, her. Cas, even though he’s not nearly freaked out enough, will help. He knows some about Zeke - Ezekiel - and Nephilim, he can help.

“Dean?” Cas’ voice sounds far away. “Dean.” That doesn’t sound like a question. He takes the flask from me, takes a swig, sets it down, and wraps the fingers of his right hand though my left, and goes back to staring at the wall. “Dean, we’ll figure it out.” 

I shake my head, there I nothing to fix this, fucking nothing. 

 

Back in the dungeon with donuts:-

 

“Crowley?” He is dozing; I slam a hand on the table in front of him. ”Crowley!” He jumps; I might just do that again, and again, it makes me happy. Crowley on the other hand doesn’t look half happy. “I brought you one of Sammy’s donuts.” Crowley seems even more pissed off; probably ‘cause I don’t actually hand the donut to him. Handing the donut right over, that’s Sammy’s thing. 

Cas follows me into the basement. “Donut? Crowley?” It doesn’t sound all together friendly when Cas says it. I try to forget they were once friends. Cas doesn’t have the best taste in friends. Crowley completely fails to acknowledge Cas, can’t say I blame him—Cas hasn’t always come through on his promises. Good thing I have experience forgiving Sammy, because I have to be good at that to stay friends with…

“To what do I owe the honor?” Crowley’s self-importance brings me back. 

I set the donut down in front of him. 

“We would appreciate your help,” Cas leans in, “and we need Sam not to know, ever.” Cas, standing tall and looking down at one can be quite threatening, and a few other things—definitely threatening. “What you get in exchange is your freedom.”

“My what?” Crowley has lost his cool.

“And a donut,” I push one towards him.

“And if you tell Sam,” Cas adds, “Dean will kill you.”

Crowley’s eyes flick between Cas and me. His look is more anxious than hopeful. There was the whole purgatory/leviathan thing, and the kidnapping/cure-the-demon thing, I can see he might worry. “Or we can leave.” I add, edging toward the donut, “the whole thing didn’t happen.” I reach for the donut.

Crowley reaches for the donut. “Talk?”

“Good boy, Crowley.” I can’t help my smirk—just happened.

“You must stop Sam’s research on the Nephilim.” Cas can be to the point. 

Crowley calmly eats his donut. 

“You Crowley,” I take a turn getting up-close and personal in Crowley’s face, “need to find everything you can about Nephilim, their grace, their conception,” Crowley has the audacity to look amused, “their gestation” now Crowley looks annoyingly curious, “how to invoke them, how to bind them, how to destroy, not just kill, destroy them, how to hide them. When you’re done, and when I decide it’s good, you are free to go.”

Crowley considers with that little tilt to his head that makes me want to hit him, just because. “I’ll do it, on one condition,”—Crowley, King of the Cross Roads, always has conditions—“tell me why.” Crowley probably has the right to ask, not that Cas and I need to answer.

“Sam needs to be saved.” Way to go Cas, seriously.

“Again?” Crowley considers me briefly, “The two of you might have been better off if you had just accepted Moose-the-boyking.”

“All you have to do, Crowley, is take control of the research, keep it anything about the Nephilim from Sam and we’ll tell you when to get along.” 

“Sam,” Crowley grins. I don’t know, and I’m plenty sure Cas doesn’t know, how long Sammy’s been standing there. Damn, now I already owe Crowley one. 

 

Bedroom, no donuts:-

 

“Zeke needs to think we are on board with his plan?” I lay down on my bed, and stare at the ceiling, “So we do nothing?” 

Cas looks worried. “I heard things.” Cas ‘heard things’ isn’t exactly what I want to hear. “Some know that Ezekiel has a plan to re-enter Heaven - he has supporters. Ezekiel is a soldier; in order to guarantee his success he will raise an army. He is not a leader Dean, he will not maintain control.”

I think we have nine-months to pull this thing off, but, as Cas pointed out, I don’t really know when, to use Cas’ exact words, ‘Ezekiel impregnated Sam.’

“We need to get rid of the baby.”

“Abort the Nephilim?” Cas sounds horrified. Special, coming from the person who murdered one for a spell not so long ago, but he was an Angel then.

I personally don’t give a shit about an unborn Nephilim; I give a shit about having Sam live through this fuckup. Once Sam has a baby, that baby, his baby in his arms all he will do is protect the thing—and every Angel out there will want it dead, and we know that doesn’t usually go so well. Maybe Sam was right, maybe he should have stayed in Heaven.

“Dean?” Cas has made a habit of sitting on my bed and fuck personal space; actually - fuck personal space - I’ll take Cas sitting next to me. He tries again, “Dean.” He touches my face; that’s a little more than I was bargaining on, “I’m sorry.” I’m about to tell him he’s got damn nothing to be sorry for, because he doesn’t, but then he just goes on. “If it wasn’t for what I have done Heaven the Angels would be in Heaven.” He strokes my jaw with his thumb, “I’m just sorry Dean. I will do what I can to protect Sam.” He takes his hand away. It was so easy to just fall into Lisa’s arms, and right now that’s all I want, to fall into Cas’ arms and have him make this yet-another-fuck up, this piece of abiding Winchester luck, disappear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading more.


	5. I could give all to Time except – except

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam finds out, courtesy of Crowley that he is pregnant, and that Dean is involved. 
> 
> This chapter is full of triggers—discusses: abortion, forced abortion, forced pregnancy, miscarriage, rape and mentions torture.

“Dean! What the fuck?” I nab the beer out of Sammy’s hand as I walk past. “Dean!” Wow, he looks positively pissed, and positively tired.

“You’re sick Sammy, no drinking for you.”

“Jesus, Dean, it’s a beer, not a case of whiskey.”

That’s my Sam, always bitching about my whiskey.

“Not having a conversation here Sam.”

Sam looks positively more pissed.

“Any luck?” Put otherwise ‘Has Crowley managed to keep you from researching the Nephilim?’

“Charlie’s changes to the bat-cave computer let us track the Angels—mostly.”

“Mostly?”

“For the longest time it showed an Angel hot-spot here—but it’s almost gone now.”

“Almost?” I raise my eyebrows; the Angel has vacated the building, vacated Sammy, whatever.

“Just a tiny glow.”

Yeah, crap, no ‘get out of jail free’ on that one. He grabs for his beer, I snatch it out of his way and take a pull, “Nah-uh, Sammy, beer is for the grown-ups.” 

He stands-up and reaches over me. Hail Mary on my part—I down it all; there is definitely a great reason I only do that when I’m already drunk—I feel a little, uh, queasy. O’douls? Really? Not as queasy as Sammy, he covers his mouth with the back of a hand, and makes a dash to the bath room. Yep, Lisa would have said that up-chucking for no reason is a sure sign a woman is ‘with child’. Great, ‘woman’.

A few minutes later he sits back down. 

“You ok?” He doesn’t look ok. “Sammy, how long has this been going on?”

“Few of months,” He says that as though it’s nothing, at least that was an honest answer, I think, “and I’m fine Dean—I’ve been getting better, really.”

This doesn’t look like better. “What else has been going on a few months?” I barely stop myself from stroking his head.

“Back-off Dean, I’m fine, quit treating me like I’m pregnant.”

Oh, shit.

“Just going to check in with Crowley.” I look so casual, so not worried, so cool and on-top-of-things when I leave the room. I grab a few donuts, and donut for Crowley; donuts, that and the death threats, make him talk. I keep both coming just to be on the safe side.

 

 

In the basement with Crowley—and donut:

 

I slam my hands on the table in front of Crowley who looks like he is having a donut orgasm—gross. “Talk.” He doesn’t jump when I slam the table anymore, just looks annoyed—I’ll take annoyed.

“I assume you want to know what I know about the Nephilim?” It pisses me off when he pretends to be in control of this. “First, for the record, it went well with Sam—except he nearly fainted.” Crowley punctuates his sentence with a little nod. “Care to tell me what is happening here?”

“No, not really.” I really, really don’t.

“What if I said Jesus was Nephilim?” 

I don’t see how that helps me—but, ok, not surprised. Now we know for a fact that they can be immortal. That I can see how it helps me.

“Don’t look so hopeful,” Crowley can still be an ass. “He’s dead.” 

On the upside, that saves me from killing Jesus. “So no immortal ‘Son of God’ then?”

“Just an Angel pretending to be god, making problems where none used to be,” Significant pause from Crowley, half-smile. Cas is standing awkwardly in the doorway. “Looking for your boyfriend, Castiel?” 

Cas ignores Crowley but doesn’t look any less awkward. “Dean, you may need to talk to Sam.” I grab a donut and stuff it into my mouth. “I upset him.” Cas looks bewildered. “He’s hiding in the kitchen. I might have made him cry.”

Overly emotional? My Sammy? Can’t be. Sam is just having a classic pregnancy, typical girl. I rub my free hand over my hair—this is going to be a bitch to explain.

“And,” Crowley adds, “Sam can’t live without donuts.” Shrugs his shoulders, continues, “The gestation of Nephilim is that same as that of a fully human child. Also,” here is his coup de grace, “men can be made to carry Nephilim.” Crowley looks between me and Cas, “Anyone?”

Cas looks as though he is about to open his mouth. I glare at him.

“And Sammy has been a little ill for the past couple of months, Dean?” Crowley’s sneer, even if he is all trussed up, annoys me, “Your Little Sammy doesn’t know he is pregnant does he?” 

No, he doesn’t, and he’s never going to know if I can help it, we are going to take care of it, and it will all be just fine.

“How did you trick Sam? We know that Angels aren’t above a modest amount of skullduggery.” He looks at Cas, yeah, Cas deserves it, but I wish Crowley would figure out a way to let go of some things. Cas isn’t even an Angel anymore. “But you Dean, your own brother? You hired on an Angel to help make a baby Nephilim, things go wrong, let’s say the Angel left” Crowley offers a little shrug, “and you want out, you need rid of your problem, quick, before precious Sammy figures what you did to him? You want a spell, some easy to get rid of it? There’s not one Dean, you have to cut it out.”

Simultaneously - I can see it on their faces - we realize that Sam is standing right there. 

“Congrats Sam, it seems you’re going to be a mommy.”

What the fuck part of ‘Do not tell Sam.’ did Crowley fail to understand?

“You wanted to know what’s going on Moose? Seems your big brother went and got you pregnant.” Crowley beams at me: “Sam sealed it with a kiss.”

“So you told him everything?”

“—he really knows how to use tongue.

I expect Sam to be angry—I expect him to hit me, a solid one on the jaw. It doesn’t come. All that comes is defeat. “You did this to me?” Sam looks so betrayed. “What am I to you Dean? You conspired with an Angel to get me pregnant, to use me to breed Nephilim so you could commit murder?” he looks so disappointed, “I don’t know who you are Dean.”

“It’s not like that,” Sam has to understand, or he will run, and in his condition ‘condition,’ great word Dean, whatever, he’s vulnerable; every Angel out there wants that baby – dead as soon as it is born - and Sam is just so much meat to be cut though to get the Nephilim. “I never meant for you to get pregnant Sam, I never wanted you to have a baby so we could just kill it. But once the Angels have that baby, when the Angels come to get that baby, I don’t believe anything else they said, they will kill you to get it Sam. We can solve this now, we can fix it before it’s too late, but I’m not going to kill a baby, what do you think I am?”

“What I don’t understand is how you did this without my consent?” Now he is angry, “You were planning on doing this all without my consent? Did you think I wouldn’t notice that I was pregnant? Did you think I could agree to this? Agree to kill an infant? You didn’t even find out how I would give birth; and, once you had her butchered out of my body – because that’s how it’s done Dean - you were going to butcher her.” 

He thinks I hate him, he how can he even think I would do this intentionally? And he is in my face, and I have to remember not to react, not to shout, not to lose it, if I lose it, I lose Sam.

“It’s not like that Sam.” I am pleading, “I don’t want you to have a baby, I never wanted this to happen to you, I didn’t know this could happen to you. This isn’t,” and this might be the moment that I lose him forever, “this isn’t why I let Ezekiel, possess you Sam. You were dying—he said he could help you. I never wanted him to do this to you, I never said he could do this to you. I never wanted you to have a baby.”

“So breeding me accidentally isn’t enough for you? You think you can take it all back? Take my baby before she is even born?”

“Wait, Sam, that not what I…”

“It is what you were suggesting Dean.” That’s Cas, he hadn’t liked that idea from the beginning. 

“Sam, how do you even know that you could be?”

“In the family way?” his voice is soft, tired, resigned, “I did the research Dean, months ago, when Crowley and I started, that’s how I know, and that’s how whoever this Ezekiel is knew he could breed me. He knows everything I know about them. When Crowley told me you had asked.” Sam is whispering.

Then I get lost in the moment. “Why were you and Crowley keeping secrets from me? First you didn’t tell me when you started this research, then you kept what you knew from me, then you make a deal to spy on me, what were you and Crowley planning? Care to tell me Sammy? ”

“And you tell me everything? You forgot to tell me I’m pregnant.” He stops for a moment and his face is closed. Sam is walking away. He pauses for a moment, doesn’t even turn back: “You let an Angel rape me, so fuck you Dean.”

 

 

Not in the basement anymore; fuck everything.

 

“Sam, don’t just walk out. Sam! Please?” damned if I care if I come across desperate, I am.

“You’re not going to take her.” Sammy takes a breath, he looks like shit, but at least he isn’t walking towards the door. “You always talk about family, she’s my family, you know what? She’s our family.”

I’m going to try this, “It’s not a baby it’s a fetus,” even the word sounds pretty disgusting. “What happened to ‘the woman gets to choose’ Sam? 

“For the record, Dean, I’m not a woman. And, you’ve made enough choices for me—I get to make this one. And, she’s been with me for four months Dean, she’s not nothing to me, she’s mine; but I don’t expect you to understand.” He sounds finished, worn thin, but there is an edge to his words that cuts deep.

“Don’t tell me what I do and don’t understand Sam.” I say it, and it sounds harsh, and I regret it, but before I think I go on: “Lisa and I,” It comes out in a whisper, maybe because I didn’t intend to say it aloud. And I would never wish this grief on Sam. Sammy will feel different, he has to feel different, because he hadn’t wanted this baby, he hadn’t expected this baby, because of the way it happened to him, because it was forced on him. “Lisa was, we tried, we lost,” I can’t finish. I swallow, I bite my lip, I can’t force this on Sammy, this isn’t what I want for him.

Sam seems to understand, that’s the thing, he and I always understand in the end. 

It’s only a momentary pause though, “I’m so sorry Dean, I really am,” he turns towards the door again, he is shaking his shaggy head, “I have to go, I can’t trust you right now.” He is crying again. How in the hell did I do this to him?

Then it suddenly hits me, four months, Sammy had said four months. “You knew?” 

“Do you really think I’m that stupid Dean? I read those books, months before Crowley, three, nearly four months before Crowley—then Crowley tells me everything you asked of him, exactly, word-for-word, everything, ‘conception’? ‘gestation?’ ‘bind’? ‘hide’? ‘destroy’? You think I didn’t notice how I was feeling? How long I’ve been feeling this way? The bat-cave computer kept showing an Angel, you know it didn’t make sense to me, I thought it was fucking error? But then, when I realized what was happening, I knew it was right, but it was too fucking late for me. I didn’t how an Angel could have done this to me, I didn’t know how the hell I wouldn’t notice—kinda enormous thing to overlook. I didn’t know how an Angel could do this without my consent. I didn’t know was about you and the Angel. You invited him to do this by accident, Dean.” His breathing is still uneven, forced, even though he’s not crying, “Do you know how afraid I was, wondering how it had happened? I thought I was losing my mind again. And I know what you seem to have missed, when she is born I die Dean, and no matter how many times I do that, I’m scared. You want to know why? Because if I was gone there would be no-one to take care of her, to protect her. I knew you suspected something because of what you asked Crowley, but what was I going to tell you? I’m pregnant with a Nephilim and I don’t know how it happened? Was that what I should have told you?” He takes a moment to get his breathing under control, “I’ve only known for sure for two weeks; but I felt her before then, my body changed, I changed before then. She moves. She was the only one I could talk to about this. I promised her, promised her I would keep her safe—even though I had no idea how—I promised her you were going to help me Dean.”

He starts walking, and then I am pleading with him not to go. I tell him we can work it out, that we have every time. And I try to explain that it’s ok, if he wants his baby, his little Nephilim, “I won’t hurt her Sammy, you can keep her if that’s what you’d like, I’ll keep her safe, I’ll keep you safe, after she comes, I’ll find a way to do it, let me take care of you.”

Sam shakes his head, he pauses to look directly at me, “You weren’t going to tell me. What were you going to do, shove a chloroform rag over my nose and cut her out of me? Was it just a matter of now or later?”

“Dean was thinking of Ketamine, it’s safer.” Cas, dammit; what happened to lying to protect people?

“You’re planning on torturing me?” Sam scoops up his pack. “Good to know you remember what Alastair taught you.” 

I could fucking hit him. I should fucking hit him. But he’s pregnant, great. He walks towards the door again, always, again. “Don’t go Sam, they’ll rip her out of you, they’ll leave you to die, they’ll kill her.” 

He scoops up the Impala keys. “Right now Dean, she’s only safe with me.”

I step to cut him off from the door, and he lands the blow I had been expecting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For reasons unknown I thought I could just touch on abortion in this chapter and in this story; and with it my opinion on the matter. This was not intended as political commentary; maybe I can’t escape it though.


	6. What I myself have held. But why declare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam runs to Garth. Cas and Dean get closer. Sides are picked by everyone.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

**Impala:**

 

I close the door.  It’s not worth slamming.  The tears come, I hate this, and I fucking hate this—crying all the time for no good reason; something much more easily resolved by hitting Dean—when I did that, didn’t particularly work either. 

 

I turn his key in the ignition and I drive.  I list what Dean has done already, given that he gained consciousness quickly, was he completely out?  Cas does know what to do if Dean isn’t ok?  I need to trust Cas, I can’t call, I set down my phone.  Given he is ok Dean has called Kevin, and Garth:  and told them nothing—other than they should call him as soon as they see me.  That’s it, that’s the people we can trust; the only people I can turn to for help.  Maybe I need to do this alone.  I drive.  Dean has the bat-cave computer, but it doesn’t show every Angel, it shows movement and concentrations—we may be able to slide under-the-radar before he figures it out.  Dean will try and track my phone—I keep the GPS turned off; and I have a spare phone Dean doesn’t know about, small mercies - I also have another other phone – but that’s in the basement. Cas is pretty much useless without his MoJo, mostly, but he can still read ancient languages, I think. So Cas for research, and Dean for knowing me.  And once Dean has done all that he will get drunk – not much different than banging patchouli – and he’s right it does hurt; even if I don’t want to be found by him.  I should dump the Impala, but I can’t do that to Dean—anyway I grew up in the Impala, I think she can, I hope she can.  Crowley, Crowley is Crowley I know he won’t help Dean—I think I know he won’t help Dean, Crowley and I have a deal.  It is going to be hard to make contact—I’ll have to wait for him. 

 

 

I need to eat.  I need to eat donuts?  What happened pickles and ice-cream, and dirt from potted plants?  Donuts seem ok.  If Dean were pregnant he’d probably crave cheeseburgers wrapped in bacon.  If Dean were pregnant I wouldn’t be trying to hurt him; if Dean were pregnant he would be home right now, wrapped in Cas’ arms.  Where did _that_ thought come from?  Dean has Cas’ Half-Angel-Ass-Baby?  I probably shouldn’t be driving when I’m laughing like this; and, fuck, I need to pee. 

 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

 

**Following morning, In Dean’s Room at the Bat-Cave:**

 

Sammy packs a mean punch—even for a pregnant guy.  Ok, not funny—it would have been so much funnier if I had said it to him.  Then he’d have probably hit me again, and that’s definitely not funny.

 

“Cas?” It’s not that Cas doesn’t belong in my room, he does—where did that thought come from?  I’m not sure he belongs behind me on the bed, laying on the pillows, me resting my back resting on his chest.

 

“Dean?”

 

“What the fuck Cas, what time is it?”  I’m scrabbling up when I’m hit by a wave of nausea—fuck but Sammy really does know how to land one.

 

“It’s morning Dean.  And you could thank me for holding you while you…” he pauses, Cas is trying to be sensitive, I smile, I like that.

 

Then I taste the bitterness in my mouth; then I realize he was taking care of me while I was puking, not from the blow to the jaw—which had sent me sprawling, but from drinking.  Who in the hell lets someone who takes a solid blow to the head drink?  Probably Cas, because he doesn’t know any different.  And while Cas is warm, and hard, and breathing, patient, forgiving all at the same time—I miss Sam.  “He left didn’t he?”

 

“I thought you’d remember that.”  Not an accusation, just an observation. 

 

And for that matter, yeah, I do remember that; I let my distraught pregnant vulnerable brother run out the door.  And then?  What the hell did I do?  I called Garth and Kevin—because that’s all that’s left to call—I called Garth and Kevin and made them swear to call me, and not to tell Sam.  I checked see if I could track his cell phone, but it’s Sam, so no he turned the GPS off, because he never really does trust anyone;  which is why he has the spare phone—luckily picked up the number—and he also turned off the GPS on that one.  Damn.  We have the computer to track the angles—and Sammy’s little Nephilim; but I don’t really know how to use the computer, that’s Sam’s thing.  I should be able to figure out use it, or figure out how to get Charlie to drop in from Oz—that would be a ‘score one’ for me.  Then there’s Crowley, I can’t trust him, but he did seem to be genuinely worried about Sam - it’s a start - but I don’t do business with demons that’s also Sammy’s thing;  at least Sam has no way to contact Crowley.

 

Cas is still here and I lean back against him.  Lisa was soft, where Lisa was soft, Cas is strong.  Wait, Cas is many things, warm, and gentle, and here - here is important - and Cas is definitely, very definitely hard against me.  What the fuck?  Cas tries to move away subtly—subtly really isn’t his thing.  I can’t come up with a good way to say ‘Stay just where you are, I like it.’ So I let him move, not far, just a little.  I reach over for my flask - wash my mouth out a little – and his arm’s tighten around me; he has both his arms wrapped around me, how did I not notice that before?

 

“No Dean.”  There is no reproach – there are definitely some things I like better about human Cas -  in it, I’m quite sure that if I reached over for my flask again he wouldn’t stop me; it’s a reminder of something.  He pulls me back closer to him again, his arms are strong, Cas is strong, I could break loose if I wanted; but I don’t – just let me rest, just dear god if there is one – let me rest for a moment.  He may even push himself against me, I’m not sure, he rests his chin against my collar bone.  Instead of reminding me of what I’ve done, of Sammy out there, alone and hunted, he touches my neck with his lips, “We will save them Dean.” 

 

I rest my head back, exposing my neck to him; Cas bites carefully for a moment, gently kisses the joint of my jaw for a second, and then touches my lips with his so softly—I open my mouth for him.

 

I must taste fucking awful. 

 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

**Garth’s houseboat (because it is nearly as cool as the bat-cave in an uber-nerdy way):**

 

Garth blinks at me.  He shakes his head slightly, more like a twitch, endearing in it’s own way, sort of, I think.  “He called already.”  Garth announces as though I wouldn’t know that had happened.  I know I frown, I know I look puzzled, which is stupid, because I knew Dean would call him, what I don’t understand is why Garth is telling me.  “Sam?  Sam?”  A hand is on my shoulder, and it’s not Dean’s and it’s not strong, but I’m sitting down because I have no choice.  “Sam?”  I put my head between my knees—now is not the time to faint.  “Sam what’s going on?”

 

So, like the idjit I am, I announce it:  I’m pregnant.

 

Garth crouches next to me, his hand on my shoulder squeezes, then he rubs my back, I look over to see his face beaming, “Congratulations!  Congrats!  That’s great Sam!”  Then he looks worried, he never looks concerned enough for any situation – so this is genuinely worrying – “This is what you want, right Sam?”

 

In a flurry he is offering me something to eat, sending a puzzled Kevin off to get donuts, offering me water, refusing me coffee (bitch, Garth can be a fucking bitch) on the grounds that his sister didn’t drink it when she was ‘preggers’ – preggers?  What was I thinking when I came here?  Garth has a sister?  He sends me to bed for a nap—and I listen to him.  He will either call Dean or not, there is nothing I can do to control him.

 

I wake up to a flurry of conversation outside the door.  “He’s what?” “A fucking Nephilim?”  Thanks Kevin, I would rather you didn’t curse about my daughter before she’s even born. At least he learned to curse—that should help him fit in.  “Shouldn’t we call Dean?”

 

“Why?”  That’s Garth.  “Doing what a Winchester tells you isn’t always the smartest thing my little man.”  I smile, I can see Kevin being unsure as Garth, inadvertently, with Garth its always blessedly inadvertent, patronizes him.

 

I stagger out of the room.  Kevin shoves donuts in front of me looking awkward and guilty.  I wish I was more awake before I ask:  Please don’t call him.

 

Garth gives Kevin a look that reads ‘You call and you are already dead, and I used to be a dentist, so I know how to make you suffer, and I’m a hunter, so I know how to kill things.’  There is interesting look on Garth’s face, sort of hilarious and alarming.  Kevin backs out of the room, hallway – away from Garth – I think Kev might be frightened, that’s actually quite funny.  Garth turns his attention to me, “Dean actually knows where you are, you realize that?  Right Sam?” 

 

“I’m pregnant, not stupid.”

 

Garth ignores that, he lets his back slide down against the wall, ending up sitting—how did he make that look so inelegant?  Not that one slides down a wall elegantly, unless you’re Dean.  I join him.  “I want you to really tell me what’s really going on.”

 

It’s a reasonable question, so I answer him.  When I get to the part about what Dean wanted to do to her, to me, I have to look away—I can’t believe I have to say these things about Dean.  He lets me talk it out, in circles and clusters of thoughts, and he hands me donuts occasionally.  I let my hand rest on my stomach, not that you can tell yet; what the fuck will that look like anyhow? Then he rests his hand over mine, “Can you feel her?”  I nod, and I smile, I know I look what Dean would call ‘goofy’, and then I smile properly—she’s in there where she belongs. 

 

Then I notice Garth’s hand, it is definitely where it doesn’t belong.  I struggle to get up.  “Please don’t call him.”  I cover my mouth, I will never get used to this up-chucking. 

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

**On the dock outside the houseboat:**

 

“Dean you did not seriously threaten to do that to him?”  “Yes, with a tranquilizer you might have got away with it Dean.”  “You didn’t even think that he had a right to know?” “You are aware he that he thinks you want to torture him?”  “You can’t do this to him.” “Don’t call anyone, hunters already want a part of him.” “And don’t you dare come here.” “No, he called, I told him to stay away.” “I don’t want any part of this Dean.” “Or your Angel friend.”

 

I probably shouldn’t have been listening in to Garth, but, of course, he did call Dean.  And, wow, I didn’t know Garth had that in him.  He looks over at me, and smiles, a sad smile that I will always associate with him, “Sorry.”

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

 

**Bat-cave, Dean’s room:**

 

“Sorry,”

 

Cas’ arms are still around me.  I don’t care if he never lets go.  “I know you had to talk to them.”

 

“Sam is there.”  Of course Sam went to Garth—there is no-where else for Sam to go.  Now I just need to go out and fetch him.

 

Cas’ nods, “I know.”  And he sighs – I kinda like it when he sighs, I know he’s almost annoyed with me, but it sounds sweet – and he leads us to lay down together.  I should get up, I should go fetch Sam now, right now. “Think about it for a while, he may be safe for there.”

 

 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

**On the dock Outside Garth’s houseboat:**

 

“It’s fine Garth.”  I try to organize my thoughts, “Thank you.”  I take a breath; this is all so fucked up.  “You didn’t seem surprised?”

 

“Kevin knew it could happen.”

 

That’s news: Kevin and Garth have been discussing the spell, and creating Nephilim.  I nod, if Kevin knows, and Dean, and Ezekiel – so some other Angels probably then – and Cas, and Garth, and Crowley (I don’t think Crowley has a way to contact other demons—at least without Dean’s help, not anyone without a cell phone, and I put that phone just out of the reach of Crowley), but the list is getting long.  I will need to leave here soon.  I just need to have one more private conversation with Garth, the reason I really came.

 

“Did Kevin get to the part in the texts where…”  this is gross, just gross, were-wolf guts I can stand, half dead zombies, beheaded vampires, but this is sickening, “Where the Nephilim carried by men,”  - Garth could really try to help me out with this sentence. – “are delivered.”  My aversion must show on my face.

 

Garth shakes his head, “Unpleasant?” 

 

“Garth, I really don’t want to ask you,”  - he has no idea of how much I really don’t – “but could you help me?”

 

Garth clasps both my hands in his.  “Sam, I’m a dentist not a…”  What I need is some sort of surgical obstratician; but that’s not what is in the cards, not in my cards.  What I have a dentist and an ancient text that suggest that I have my insides torn out;  when for the first time I have a real reason for living—if I don’t count Dean, and I can’t count Dean.

 

Garth looks so eager to help—if I didn’t so desperately need help it would be embarrassing.  I still have to ask, “You wouldn’t hurt her?” 

 

His face lights up, and he shakes his head in complete puzzlement: “She’s a baby.”

 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

I should go, Dean did call, he obviously knows where I am.  Garth’s threats won’t keep him at bay.  I don’t know where Cas stands on anything—whether he can mitigate Dean.  Actually, I do know where Cas stands on Dean.  I laugh at my stupidity a little, I still want to Dean to be happy; what sort of idiot, idjit, am I?  What wants to do to her, what he wants I can’t think about; but I’ve spent so long wanting him to be feel loved that I feel like I fucked up his chance at it.  If Dean comes, he comes, I need to rest, just for a day, I need to rest.  But I must be wicked:  when Dean comes I need to be gone.

 

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

**Alone in the kitchen in the bat-cave:**

“Kevin fucking Solo?”  He must mean Kevin Tran.  “I know I’m not Dean.”  Angels don’t have a corner on stating the obvious.  “Yes, I have his phone.”  Stating the obvious.  “He’s not here.” He’s in the basement.  “Sam is leaving.” Good boy Sam. “Yes, I’ll tell him.”

 

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

**In the basement with Crowley, and depressingly, Sam’s donuts:-**

I don’t have any enthusiasm for slamming my hands on Crowley’s little table;  I had him a donut.  “My offer of freedom still stands.  You need to help me convince Sam.”  I can go after Sam, I can fetch him and he’ll just run again, this is Sam.  And for all Sammy wants this baby – how in the fuck did he decide to want this baby – keeping her could kill him ‘butchered out of him’.  I know what he wants, I want to accept what he wants, but dammit Sam.

 

“You expect me to kiss you Dean?”  Crowley is happily munching.

 

“Whatever works for you Crowley, just help us keep Sam.”  Here we go again, the closest person to Sam, the only one he trusts is a demon.

 

“You know I have a deal with him?”  Crowley puts on his ‘aren’t you just the dumbest son of an ass-hat look, “Right, Dean?”

 

“You’re a demon Crowley, the damn King of Hell; find a loophole: ‘best efforts’ or something.”

 

“Ok.”  He said, ‘Ok.’ as though it were simple.  “I just need one little thing.”  That’s more like the Crowley we’ve grown not to love, “Lengthen my chain.”

 

“That’s all?”  I raised my voice this just doesn’t seem like a real, his real, demand, there is something he’s holding out on.  What do I expect, he’s Crowley.

 

“That’s all.   Keep me cuffed, put down extra salt, make sure I can’t reach your bugger of a Devil’s Trap – but this neck chain, as it is, really isn’t my thing.”

 

“That’s really all?  Crowley?”  Now I’m suspicious; more suspicious, you should always be  with a demon, just ask Sam;  actually, don’t ask Sam.

 

I nod my head, I don’t get it, I know there’s a trick, but I’m desperate, I guess I’ll do anything.  “A deal it is then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried out fancy punctuation. Ellipsis are a new thing for me...so maybe I use them more often than I should, and in places where a really shouldn't...like a new lover.


	7. To Time it never seems that he is brave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sammy is on the run, desperately needing friends. Dean finds out who is and isn't on his side of the Sam question. Both Sam and Dean need to know who they can trust, or not. A brief moment between Dean and Cas. Oh, and more violence than I intended, not graphic, not a whole bunch, not bad really, but still, I didn't see it going there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really had not intended to take any position on abortion. But, again, it looks as though I might have. More than one person had mentioned my spelling; I have checked this chapter so many damn times that if it's still there, oh dear, I'm doomed then. And thanks for the comments along the way--including the spelling one's it is something I need to keep in mind. And thank you for reading; thank you so much for reading!

**Impala** : 

 

I should be used to driving to fuck-knows-where; but I’m not used to driving to fuck-knows-where in the Impala without Dean—only if Dean is dead, or if I _think_ Dean is dead.  I’m an asshole of a brother, but right now Dean has me beat.  I’m hungry, at least I’ve moved on from the donuts – mostly – roast-beef sandwich sounds good;  but for a sandwich I need money, and for money, since I left without cards, and I’m nearly out of cash, I’m going to need a scam.  I can’t just walk into a bar a drink a couple of shots and a beer, and I can’t run a pool scam _and_ look like I’m not drinking.  Great.

 

**Bat-cave, Basement:**

 

“Crowley?”  He looks up from the stack of books—Cas is searching through the archives, and dumping what he can in-front of Crowley.  I’m busy figuring the details of the computer system—details which Crowley _claims_ he doesn’t have.  I’m checking in with Crowley to see if he actually is doing _anything_. “Hey,” I ruffle what on Crowley passes for hair—he hates that, “King of Hell, got anything?”.  Crowley scowls at the document, not even bothering to look up at me; the feeling is mutual, I wish I could finish him—other than I can’t shake the feeling that Sammy told him something, and I need to find that out that thing.

 

“Dean?”

 

Crowley never calls me by name, and he never looks sad;  he catches me off guard.

 

“There’s nothing here that says anything about,” he pauses, for a demon he certainly caught a bad case of moralism, “about what you want to do to Sam.  What your pet former Angel is giving me to read are copies of texts that, at best, are several hundred years past being originally written, and been through dozens of translations.  And, in case you don’t recall, _Squirrel_ , translations can be absolutely wrong; even if there was some kinder-gentler way to rip Sammy open at home, and this is the only place we can take a stand against Angels, we may not find it—and it doesn’t help if he’s not here.  Unless you back-off on killing His Baby, Sam’s never coming home, dead or alive, he’s never coming home.”

 

“Sammy?  His name is Sam.”

 

Crowley looks as if he won this round, and he hasn’t look up from the text, not even for a moment.  He didn’t win; he did reinforce the idea that he knows something.

 

“Dean?”

 

“Fuck you Crowley, what now?” 

 

“You do understand that Sam wants this baby?”  - now Crowley chooses to look directly at me - “and if you do this, if you take this from him, if he lives through this, you will lose him?  And Dean, he has you, and he has me.”

 

And Crowley lets that last sentence hang there.  And I know that, not too far down this road, Crowley is going to insist that we do this his way.  Whatever the fuck that is.  I leave him to his books and his feeling superior. 

 

**Bat-Cave, Kitchen:**

 

“Dean?”

 

“Jesus fucking Christ Cas!  Don’t fucking sneak up on me.”  Ok, that wasn’t the greatest reaction, but after that morning two weeks, nearly three weeks ago, I don’t really know what to say to him.  Cas, well, he’s Cas, and he just keeps on being him.  I could really just about kill him.

 

“You may want to listen to Crowley.  It’s too late to safely abort the little Nephilim.” 

 

Does everyone have to agree with Sam?

 

“Yes, I do agree with Sammy.”

 

Great, now Cas is a fucking mind reader, didn’t that end when he became human?  “You don’t get to call him Sammy.  His name is Sam.”  

 

Cas passes me a beer and opens one for himself, and leans back against the counter.  “He’d come home if he believed you would protect her.”

 

How many times haven’t I been over this with Cas? If there is any hope, any, of saving Sam, fuck the little Angel bastard it’s gone;  and Cas won’t agree with me.  At least I’m not going to wait until it has a beating heart and murder it. 

 

At least I know I can just scoop Sam up from Garth, the more Garth denies he’s there, the more I know where to find him, Garth isn’t as slick as he likes to think.  I let myself have a moment of almost happiness, I know where to find Sam. I picture Sam puttering about the stupid house boat, and looking pregnant, and – dammit – I miss him.  Yeah, it would be nice to know what he is eating now, pickles and ice-cream?  Lisa never ate pickles and icecream; she just looked so happy, beautific her friends said, long word for happy.  I guess Sam isn’t looking that contented, he’s probably got Kevin and Garth working on how to save The Baby.  I wonder if the baby will look like him, like Sam, after all it couldn’t look like an Angel?  Could it?  I wonder if it will look kinda like me.  If Lisa and I hadn’t lost our baby I wonder if he would have looked like me; probably for the best though, I would just have fucked up his life, I fuck up everything.  I look away from Cas.  Sammy, yeah, Sammy does have a point, he probably is safer away from me;  I do get it, it’s just that I can’t lose him.  Sam is at Garth’s, the Zeke doesn’t know he bailed out of here, he’s pretty safe, for all Garth is an idiot he is a hunter, and Kevin is figuring out how to fix this thing.

 

I haven’t heard from Kevin though, not that that worries me, nah, that doesn’t worry me. 

 

“Dean?  Dean?” Softly this time, and Cas rests a hand on my shoulder, the first time we’ve touched since _that_ morning, “There’s something you need to know: I can hear the Angels, and they know Sam’s not here; they seem concerned that Sam’s not here.  Bartholomew knows about the Sam’s Nephilim.  He will…”

 

I know what ‘he will’.  What the fuck (again) Cas? How in the fuck did you not tell me such an important piece of information? If he wasn’t Cas, if he wasn’t human, vulnerable, concerned for Sam, I would deck him.  “You can hear the Angels and you didn’t think to say anything?”  Cas looks puzzled, of course he does, because according to him he just said something.

 

“So?  He’s at Garth’s, we can just go get him.”  - And the Impala, Bitch. –  Cas looks guilty—wow, that is certainly a good look on him.  Wait.  “Cas?”  What the fuck has he done now;  can’t I trust anyone?

 

“Kevin called…you were determined…at the time it seemed better…Sam is gone.”

 

Yeah, that’s it, I can’t trust anyone.

 

**Impala:**

‘Anna, I hope it’s ok that I call you Anna—it’s a Angel’s name; I have do something here, and I need you to just hold on, ok?’ Maybe she can hear me, why wouldn’t she? I wish she wasn’t being born into this chaos brought to me by Dean.  Dean, would know what to do, oh, yes, that’s right, kill Anna; fuck you Dean.  I know why women break into grocery stores to steal milk, and bread—I close my eyes and take a big breath—I know why Dean shoplifted when he was a just kid to steal bread and peanut butter for us, for me.  I double check that my Taurus is loaded and easily accessible; I check my lock-picks in my hand, running my fingers over them.  I can be in and out in minutes.  I rest my hand against my belly, ‘Stay safe in there Anna.’  I have never felt this afraid in my life, but I’m with Anna, I’m not alone.  I sound like a teenage girl.

 

**Bat-cave:**

“What in the hell do you mean he’s not a Garth’s?”  And now that means that Garth has been lying to, manipulating, me—impressive actually—apparently I under-estimated him.  Either that or he wasn’t manipulating me, and I over-estimated him.

 

“He left.” 

 

Yeah, thanks again Cas, you already said that. 

 

“He didn’t spend a night.”

 

Well that information didn’t come from the Angels did it?  I throw my hands up.  I get up close and personal into Cas’ face and he backs away—we haven’t been in each other’s space like this since _that_ morning.  He shakes his head.  What the fuck did happen to Kevin?

 

“They’re not going to do anything different than you.” 

 

Cas is pushing back into my space.  He might be dumb enough to shove me.  He takes a swing, I grab his wrist, lock his arm back, twist him around, force him down onto his knees, I hold his face down near the floor.  “I don’t know where he is Dean.”  And Cas looks at me, eyes hard, over his shoulder.  “Unless we change what we are doing, unless we stop trying to kill Sammy’s baby, unless we try to find a way to keep them both safe Sam will continue to run, and the Angels will find him, the Bartholomew isn’t merciful Dean, he will keep Sam until the Baby’s heart beats on its own, and they will kill both of them.”  I force Cas further down, his face into the floor, his arm further up, I could break it if I chose; I don’t know what I think I will gain hurting him, I don’t think he has anything more to say, and then he adds that he lied to Kevin.  Kevin thinks I know that Sam is gone.  _Great, fucking great, I really am all on my own._  

 

Apparently I underestimated Cas also; he takes advantage of my moment of distraction, breaks free, flips me, gets his face inches from mine and uses his entire body to hold me down.  “I hate being human,” his voice is unnervingly even, his ‘I’m-an-Angel-and-I-can-cast-you-back-into-perdition tone’, and then he goes on:  “You were irresponsible in allowing Sam to become pregnant, you are ill-advised what you want to do to do to him, your actions have been imprudent and self-centered,” – don’t spare a guy’s feelings Cas –  He is so close to my face I expect him to kiss me again, but he gets up and starts to walk away, and then stops, “I’m here for you Dean.”

 

**In the basement and all alone:**

 

Dean and Cas are distracted, caught up in each other.  I can hear them fighting; and I can hear the important things, Sammy isn’t at Garth’s; and Cas can hear the Angels and they are tracking Sam.  Those three extra inches of chain are about to make a difference - I should have specified how much longer I wanted the damn chain, Dean is an ass, and I must be losing my touch – but I can reach the phone Sam keeps hidden in the basement.  It was a damn stupid thing to ask for—suspicious—I’ve definitely lost my touch, I’m worried, _worried_ , about Sam.  I don’t know how long I have to make this call, I don’t know how long he has until the Angels – Bartholomew, what happened to the friendly Zeke - find him.

 

 **Impala** : 

 

I disabled the alarm, disabled the camera, picked the lock, didn’t shoot anyone.  ‘I’m sorry Anna, started you on a life of crime, the life of a hunter, before you’re even here.  We were in and out, I got what we need, food, medical supplies, iron, some things for you, we’re going to need things for you soon.’  Great parenting Sam, classic John Winchester school of parenting.  And my phone rings, my other-other-other-didn’t-give-the-number-to-anyone phone; all it has is this number programed in.

 

It’s either Dean, or Cas, or Crowley; and Crowley is the only one who knew where I stashed the phone.  I risk it.  No greeting:  The Angel know I’m moving, they may know where I am, Cas can hear the Angels, and Dean hasn’t changed the approach on his research, Cas wants Dean to let me keep my baby, Crowley can’t find a promising way to save me, he’s looking for ways to hide my baby from the Angels, Crowley doesn’t know if I should come home.  He pauses, and I think he is going to hang-up:  instead he asks me how I am.

 

And I pour my heart out to fucking Crowley, Crowley?  Then the call disconnects with no warning, and I think Dean must have found him.  I don’t feel sick because of anemia, I feel sick because we are in danger and so alone.

**Batcave, basement:**

 

He lands a blow.  Dean would make a good demon he likes to hit innocent people, innocent demons really, even helpful ones.  Then he grabs me by my chain, and slams my head into the table—thank god I’m a demon or that one would really hurt, quite a bit.  I let him run, nothing is going to stop him—this is Dean making a claim on Sam.    And when he’s done he grabs the phone. 

 

“Fucking call him Crowley, call him again, and tell him I won’t hurt his baby, I’ll save the fucking Nephilim if that’s what it takes, and tell him to fucking come home.”

 

Crowley can help, bastard that he is and I’m not going to let Sammy be murdered by Angels, I’m not going to let Sammy die out there all alone.  Cas – does he have to sneak? I really thought that was an Angel thing – puts his arms around me; Cas shakes his head, he knows the problem here, Sam won’t answer for this number again, we could trace him by triangulating from the towers (if we had Charlie) but Sam’s probably already moved on.

 

The Crowley speaks up again:  “There is a chance the Angels may not want the baby, it may not be true Nephilim.”  Crowley has both our attention now, he continues: “Sammy, courtesy of Azazel, has demon blood in him.”

 

Cas tightens his arms around me, suddenly its Cas that feels as though he is just holding on, before Crowley can continue Cas, clinging as though he is drowning, adds, “The baby, Sam’s precious baby is truly an abomination.”

 

Crowley looks hopeful, “You believe the Angels won’t want him?”


	8. Come away, O human child!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean, Cas and Crowley hatch a plan to retrieve Sam, as do both Angels and Demons.

**Impala:**

The last two words out of Crowley’s mouth before he hung up - or Dean hung up for him – the last two words weren’t: ‘you’re not totally alone’, or ‘wait this out Sam’ or ‘you do have friends’, or any of the other shit that Crowley had been saying; the last two words of the call were:  ‘Demon Blood’.  For a moment I think Crowley is back to his old self – would actually be a relief – and thinks I should start drinking blood again.  Then I realize he is reminding me of something I would rather we had all forgotten:  I have demon blood in my veins.  I am no more human than my little Anna will be, and neither heaven nor hell has any true idea what she is.   It is only me and Crowley.  I don’t think he understands what this means any better than I do.

 

**Bat-Cave, Basement:**

Cas holds on too tight; fucking great, Cas is panicking.  Ok, so he’s human, but now isn’t a great time to panic.  “Dean, Sam’s baby, it may be an Anti-Christ.”  Yeah, that is a good reason to panic. Something cold settles over me, what if Cas wants to kill the baby;  like hunters wanted to kill Sammy;  like Dad thought I should, thought I would shoot Sammy, hell, like I sometimes thought I should shoot Sammy; like I wanted to kill the baby fifteen minutes ago.  I pull Cas around, to my chest, into, closer to me, stroke his back just to bring him back to himself, to here;  his breathing on my neck is uneven.  Cas I won’t let you go, I hope you know that, I’m not going to be saying it anytime.  Cas—he isn’t used to making human decisions about right and wrong, not to human emotions;  he doesn’t know how to do any of this.  Cas whispers into my shoulder:  “We should kill that monster, even if it takes Sam.”

 

I had thought we were done with this shit, with divine ultimatums, apocalypses, ultimate battles of good and evil.  Half an hour ago I had thought I could trust Cas ;  not ten minutes ago I had known Cas had been lying to me, but I knew he would protect Sam.  Now I know that Cas is telling the truth, and wants to kill the baby, and he is will to kill Sammy.  I think I know that for 30 seconds. 

 

“Dean, if, when, the Angels find out what he is carrying they will destroy Sam.”  Cas steps back; looks into me with blue eyes, makes me think he can never lie: “We’re the only people who will be willing, able, to protect Sam.”  His eyes never leave mine: “And his baby.”  I let myself breathe a minute; we will work this out, we are going to be ok.  “I started the whole thing.” Cas goes on, “The baby is innocent; the baby was created because of my hubris; if blood is spilled it should be mine.”  And, no Cas, no, you stupid fucking idiot, just no, what the hell are you going to do anyhow?  Throw yourself uselessly in the path of Angel hordes?  You’ve not been human long enough to understand death, not our kind of death.   Cas steps back, and runs a hand across his mouth, and I can see the lines around his eyes, and how close he is to crying; we are going to have tons of moments like this before he gets a handle on feelings.  To protect Sam and the baby Cas has agreed to risk the world.  I want to touch the new lines on Cas’ face, hold him against me again, make Cas safe, I want to hold on, I want it to be Cas that’s strong, I want the Cas that can solve this, I want to be able to trust Cas completely for once.  But Cas is vulnerable, weak, breakable, the only way we can do this is together; and we may need Crowley.

 

“Her name is Anna.”   Yeah, that’s right, Crowley is still here.  “Sam calls his baby Anna.”  He gives us a pointed look, as though we’ve missed something.   “Abbadon will want Anna, and Sam.”  Crowley is a crippled King of Hell, but he is the King of Hell none the less, he knows how these things are done.  “And unlike the Angels who are in disarray, Abbadon knows how to fight and how to take what she wants; and Abbadon has an army.”  His lower lip tugs a little to the side, “Actually, she has _my_ army.”  Was that a little annoyance in his voice?  “But she doesn’t know is that Sam’s cherished-unborn-infant might be an Anti-Christ;  she doesn’t know she needs Sam immediately, actually within the next two months, while he is still carrying the baby.  Whether she will want him dead or alive once she knows is the question; the same goes for Anna.”  He looks at his hands as he adds:  “We don’t know how soon she will find out.  We need to get Sam.”

 

“Two months?”  What the fuck?  What the hell else has he told Crowley?  He told Crowley the baby’s name, and the date she is coming.  What the fuck else is Sammy telling him?  The color he’s chosen for the nursery?  Who he wants the god parents to be? Where the hell he is?

 

 “He’s five months now, seven months, that’s as soon as Anna has any chance of independent survival outside of Sam’s body.  Sam won’t let us take her before then.”

 

“Dean,” I must have spaced out, Cas shakes me gently, acts as though he has always been in control of this, “Dean, we need to let Crowley fetch Sam.”

 

**Impala:**

 

There is no way to drive off the edge of the world.

 

**Bat-cave:**

 

“I need to make a call?”

 

That’s not a fucking question at all.  I want to hit Crowley so damn hard that he wants to crawl out of his demon skin.  I want to back him into a corner I hate that cocky look on that bastards face, the one that says he has us where he wants us, the one that says _he_ has Sam. 

 

Cas steps forward, he doesn’t raise his voice at all, he looks straight at Crowley in a way that I no longer can; not since I realized I’m losing Sam to him, to a fucking demon.  “We listen to every word you say,” and Cas hasn’t changed his tone, “and we know where you are every minute, and you find us Sam, and you’re free.”  That’s my Cas.  Then Cas sets about freeing Crowley, undoing his chains, his cuffs, breaking the lines of the devils trap.  Then, surprisingly practical, he is getting more that way all the time, “Crowley, can you drive a car?”  Cas makes up for what he lacks in tone with his look of curiosity. 

Crowley shakes his head, “I’ve never felt the need.”  He stares at Cas, who can’t take a hint, “No.”    

Cas looks satisfied, he smiles at me, “Dean, we need you to come with us.”

 Yay, road-trip:  me and Cas and Crowley.  I can’t explain how much I miss Sam.  And the Impala, I miss the Impala.

 

**Conference Room 13b, Outer Rings of Hell**

“You ever-loving bastards, not one of you, not one, mentioned that Sam Winchester _was_ the Anti-Christ?”  I throw my hands up, “ _Was_ the Anti-Christ?  You flubbed the apocalypse?”  This may actually be what I find the most shocking about time-traveling through a closet and landing in the year 2013.  “How in the,” I can’t find the words for these fools, “How in the sweet sweet ever-loving hell, could you, all of you,” I cup the chin of the pretty one, squeezing his cheeks, “fail to mention that?”  I turn my attention to the Angel, he is actually quite adorable, “Zeke?” and very, very useful, “And you say Sammy _-true-vessel-of-Lucifer_ -Winchester is pregnant?  Sam Winchester, took a drink of demon blood as a baby, and now an Angel gets him pregnant?”  Oh, this is delightful.  “And he didn’t know anything?”  So now Sam knows, and he’s known for about a month, and he - and the Angels – think they have a Nephilim to break back into heaven.  Sammy wants to keep his baby - how sweet- and he’s on the run from murderous Angels, and cruel brother Dean.  Sam is the mommy-daddy of an Anti-Christ.  And I can have an Anti-Christ all of my own.  “What are you clowns waiting for?  Go fetch him.”  They scatter.  “Alive!”  I add, they would probably bring me Mommy-Daddy-Sammy and an Anti-Christ-Child dead if I didn’t tell them otherwise;  I have to admit some compassion for Crowley, wherever the hell, or not hell, he is.

 

**Impala:**

 

‘Anna, are you listening?’  She doesn’t really have a choice does she?  ‘I’m sorry about the demon blood, I really am.’  I stroke a thumb over my belly, my other hand resting on the steering wheel.  I think I feel the first signs of a bump—this is weird, I have to breathe, how am I reconcile this with being a man.  I think I feel her move.  That’s good, I like her moving.  ‘Anna, everyone is going to be freaked out, ok?  So we’ve got to keep moving.’  I don’t know where we are going.  All I want to do is call Dean, all I know to do is call Dean, maybe he will have changed his mind. ‘Anna, I wish I could to talk to your Uncle Dean.’  I keep my foot on the accelerator.  I am driving towards Kansas again.  I wonder if the demons will also want her now.  I wonder if the Angels will want her anymore.  I wonder if Crowley will tell Dean.  I wonder if Crowley has told Dean.  I wonder if Dean blames himself for all of this.  Sure he was dumb, sure I could blame Dean, but no one would have seen this coming.  And after leaving him for dead maybe I deserve this.  ‘I don’t deserve you Anna.’ Anna is completely innocent.  ‘I’m sorry Anna, I will find you somewhere safe to be, I don’t think I’m going to be able to stay, ok?  Anna?’  I know she can’t answer me.  Where the hell is safe without Dean?  Garth can help bring her into the world, he says he can’t but I know he can.  I can just see Kevin fainting, at least that will be sort of funny.  I wish Cas was an Angel again, I don’t know where he stands, maybe I should call him, maybe he will be willing to protect her?  Why the hell would I think he can, he doesn’t even know how to drive;  though he is good with a gun.

 

**Bat-cave, Basement:**

Cas picks up my knife, running the blade across his hand and offering the blood to Crowley.  Crowley looks amused,  “Castiel, I need to use your _phone_.” 

I guess Crowley is still pissed at Cas over the whole God, souls and purgatory thing.

 

 **Impala** :

 

‘Anna?’  why do I expect her to respond—does shifting around count? ‘Anna, I can’t do it, I don’t know where to go without your Uncle Dean.’  There is a horror in the center of me, a fear that I haven’t felt since my wall came down, I know we are being followed, I know we aren’t safe.  I know we have to get out of here.  I need to dump the Impala, sorry Dean, and hotwire something less conspicuous.  Do I leave the Impala where it is easy for Dean to find?  Or hide it dark and deep from everyone who is looking at me?  I left part of the arsenal at Garth’s, I will take as much of what is left as I can.  Great.  Vitamins, protein powder, bottled water, candy bars, silver bullets, salt, shot gun, jeans that don’t fit as well as they should, fake ID’s, socks, I keep my wallet, what a fucking collection to carry with me.  I crush a pack of cigarettes that I haven’t smoke since I got my soul back, this is not that time to start craving anything.  I can’t turn back to Garth’s place not with whatever this is on our tail.  Can I risk going back to Garth ever?  He is my last friend, do I ask him to take Anna?  Do I risk calling him, asking him?  It’s no wonder no one wants to friends with a Winchester.  Fuck it, my phone doesn’t have any bars.  I’ll call him from a pay-phone later.  ‘Ok Anna, we’re doing this, disappearing between the cracks of the world.’  I write the last of sigils on my body, over Anna, hope it works, and head out into the dark.  I have two months to figure this out, two months to find someone who can save, who will protect Anna. 

 

I load my Taurus, and pocket my phone.

**Lawrence Hilton, Conference Room 12b:**

 

“How long, exactly how long have you had no idea of where to find Sam Winchester?”  I am leaning over the conference room table, the stupid little Angels backing away from me.  “You lost him?  All you monkeys, you complete morons, needed to do was follow his car;  and listen for the baby.”  _The_ baby.  Ezekiel is an idiot, first attempting to breed the Nephilim; second, breeding Sam Winchester, Sam- _true-vessel-of-Lucifer-_ Winchester.  “And you lost Ezekiel?”  Ezekiel had been planning something on his own, had been trying to create his own Nephilim, talking to rogue Angels about plans, we have suspected him of talking to demons, now he is missing.  Ezekiel should have been eliminated from the equation; instead these fools have lost him.  Sam Winchester, without the car, will be hard to track, he is warded from us, but the baby we can hear, and she can hear us.  Except now these asshats (I like that word, good word) have lost any lead on her—Sam may have realized the need to hide her from us also.  If he has warded her Sam knows that not only is Dean, but we are also, following him.  Maybe this instruction will be clear:  “I want Sam Winchester and The Baby dead. Now.”

 

**On the street:**

I duck into a deserted house on the wrong end of suburbia.  I ward us against everything.  I can feel that thing watching us.  I will wait till morning to be moving on.  I consider calling Dean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. I hope I'm still doing ok on the spelling :-)


	9. What I myself have held. But why declare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean, Cas and Crowley set out on a road trip to find and save Sam. Sam is sick, by the time Crowley finds him they may not be able to save Sam's baby. Cas and Dean talk, and talk, and talk.... And then there is Kevin.

I’ve been too restless, too uncomfortable, I haven’t really slept, which was the purpose of stopping.  Anna’s becoming more agitated the longer we spend here—we need to keep moving.  My phone is charged, my gun is loaded, she and I are warded, I eat as best I can, and walk out into a cold dawn on the wrong side of suburbia.

 

**In the bat-cave:**

“Larry?” “Yes.” “Well aware.” “Been a little tied up here.” “Abbadon.” “Naturally.”

 

I send Dean to check the computer and I keep a careful watch on Crowley.  It is plausible that Crowley’s telephone conversations are going better than is apparent.  Several calls – numerous calls - later it appears that while he has support it doesn’t seem to be that Hell’s armies are on our side.  Supposedly Crowley still has some pull, the cross-roads demons endorse him, as does any demon who wanted to avoid the apocalypse.  The pro-apocalypse Luciferians have rallied behind Abbadon.  Most seem undecided, and it is those calls that concern me.  We don’t need Crowley bringing attention to us; he isn’t gifted with discretion, I will continue to monitor any calls he makes.  We don’t truly know what Crowley wants, all we have is his word;  Sam may have sealed it with a kiss, but Dean won’t touch the demon.  It may be in Crowley’s best interests to be rid of her, and not face a renewed potential for Armageddon;  or he may be able to secure himself power by controlling her, controlling Sam. Crowley may use Sam’s trust to take the infant anti-christ for himself.

 

I leave the basement, at Cas’ instruction to take a final look at the Men-‘O-Letters computer.  Map looks like any map I’ve ever seen, with areas of light indicating Angels.  Cas and I, and supposedly Kevin and Sam, hadn’t been able to extract more detail.  According to Sam the closer the Angles the brighter the light, the bigger the group the brighter the light—in other words estimating their numbers is hard but not impossible, but single or distant Angels may not have adequate grace to be registered by the system.  What I do see is a convergence of Angels in Missouri, and a group of Angles spiraling out from Lawrence.   They are after something, and that something is probably Sam, and Anna; and they are after them _now_.  They move East to West, toward Missouri, then a brief jog South, and now scattering.  If they had Sam, they just lost him.  They not only just lost him, they apparently don’t think he’s coming here.  We need to get Sam - and his Anna - here as soon as possible, while here is still safe.  At least the bat-cave is defensible.

 

“I know where to go Cas.”  I shout across the bat-cave. 

 

Cas doesn’t respond, he’s talking on the phone, he has taken it on himself to call Garth.

 

**Wrong side of Suburbia:**

I pull the plates from one car, and hotwire another—should make me a little harder to find—I don’t need the cops on our tail.  Not everything can be helped though.  Now little Anna is getting quiet and I feel awful. I don’t know why anyone would do this twice.

 

My phone rings:  “Garth?”  he doesn’t usually call me, I call him, which means there is a crisis coming down.  “Of course I pick up for you.”  “You heard from Cas?”  “Cas you asked you to call me?”  “He knows I’m not there.”  “He knows I’m _really_ not there.”  “Kevin told him the same day?”  “And Cas didn’t tell Dean?”  I can’t help but laugh as Garth grumps about Dean calling _all_ the time.  That’s how I know Dean, dog with a bone;  he chased me down when my soul was in the pit, no reason he wouldn’t track me down now.  “Dean swears he is sorry and will protect the baby?”  “And I should believe him because?”  “Cas has something important to tell me about the Baby.”  “Something he wouldn’t tell you, because he doesn’t trust you?”  Is it what Crowley said to me?  I can understand why Cas would want to keep that from Garth;  could it get more convoluted? “Cas said to tell me it’s worse than what Crowley had understood?”  I bite down my temper, no-one gets to say anything negative about Anna, not anyone that is planning on living.  Cas should know that.  This could be some kind of disaster.  “Uh, I didn’t know they were working with him.”  “Me?” “Yeah, I guess, sometimes I have been.”  “You’re right Garth, I should have told you.”  “Yes, I’m sorry.” “Of course I should trust you.”  And I do trust Garth (mostly);  and I do trust Crowley (nearly), and I’m going to see about Cas, but I don’t know what to do about Dean.

 

Pause.  “Garth, Angels are following me.”  “Anna gets upset when they are near.”  “I talked to Crowley last night, and things are more complicated than they seemed.”  “Because of me Anna has demon blood in her.” 

 

Garth pauses only momentarily, the he asks:  ‘Does this change anything for you?’ 

 

And I say:  ‘No.’

 

Then he say:  ‘Good, this doesn’t change anything for me.’

 

But the rest of the issues, the problems of what Dean wants and where Cas stands, still need to be addressed:  “Garth, I’m sorry you’re in the middle of this, but tell Cas to tell Dean I don’t trust him.”  And don’t tell Cas to tell Dean I miss him, and miss Cas, and fuck-it I even miss Crowley.  And don’t tell Dean that I am so, so close to turning to him for help, again.  “Yeah, ok, I’ll pick up for Crowley, but not Cas or Dean.”  And, oh, yeah, Garth, don’t tell anyone that I don’t think I you and I can do this alone, that even with Crowley on our side we are in way to deep.

 

**On the road with Crowley:**

 

“Dean, this choice is conspicuous.”  However, a Bugatti is always pretty.  I watch Dean, confidant hands, strong, calloused, work worn, care worn, used, skilled hands rest on the steering wheel.  He may say he is at home in the bat-cave, but behind the wheel of a car Dean is perfect; completely aware, as self-assured as he is with a gun in his hands, he is calm, quiet, steady, intense;  he is carefully focused, intent on the task, on whatever his mission.  He sits on the right side completely at home, change makes no difference, only concentrates him.  He settles into the leather of the car, beautiful man and a beautiful machine.  Dean lets a smile touch his lips, he is never happier than when he is driving.

 

“Hey, Crowley?”  (I had forgotten he was there until Dean talked to him.)  “I need directions.  And while you’re about it, why don’t you call Sam, and let him know, whatever, tell him I just want to talk to him.”

 

Because Dean asked I send him East and South, driving into the light of the early morning, trying to get ahead of a band of Angles; believing in the help of a demon. 

 

I know that Dean doesn’t only want to talk to Sam, the plan isn’t only to talk to Sam; he says to Cas he wants Sam to come home, he is going to ask Sam to come home; I’m still not convinced Dean won’t hurt him.  I’m half unsure about taking Dean right to him, which I believe I can, on the say-so from somewhat trust-worthy demons.  He tosses me a phone rather casually, Dean seems to have taken to trusting me, I can’t say that makes me trust him;  I would rather stick with trust no one, not even Sam, or maybe trust Sam.  “Sammy?”  Dean glares at me, he hates it when I call Sam that.  “No I’m not alone.” “Dean and Cas are in the car with me.”  “Improvement from the Impala by the way, Dean’s tastes are maturing.” 

 

Sam laughs, but ends up coughing, then adds:  ‘I won’t talk unless we talk alone.’  I raise my eyebrows in question to Dean.

 

Dean looks at me in the rear view, then shakes his head.  “No can do Crowley.”

 

But, oh yes, I can do Dean.  The foolish boy and his little pet trust me, our crazy Cas took off my chains, and I snap my fingers, and “Bye-bye gentlemen…”  I’m gone.

 

Dean doesn’t look distressed, he smiles a tiny smile at me:  “I planted a tracking device on him, he just led us straight to Sam.”

 

**Deserted House on the Wrong side of suburbia:**

 

I pull over too tired to go on. This place has been vacant long enough that there is no electric or gas, but there is still water;  and I need some.  I haven’t felt this bad before this morning, and I don’t think this is normal – not that there is a normal for any of this. Anna was pitching a fit yesterday, and now she is virtually still, but when she does kick I’m in pain.  Damn, so much pain.  I turn on the GPS on my phone, and call Garth again, leave him a message asking him to track my number - I didn’t even check the address we’re at - and ask him to come and find me, and warning him about what he might, probably will, find.  But don’t call Dean.  Dean might try to take Anna from me to save me at the last moment, and she is never going to know what it means to be alone, wherever she goes I go.  But Dean was right when he was talking to Cas outside the church, it seems so long ago, I do need help with everything.  And I need to sit down, and I need to coax myself to eat again, but I can’t do it.  I lay down on the floor rest my head on duffel, I shouldn’t go to sleep.  I know I shouldn’t go to sleep.

 

“Crowley?”  What the fuck?  Am I dead?  Great, I went to hell again, I probably deserve it anyhow, maybe Lucifer never lost his grip on me; probably all that demon blood I still have in my veins.  Please don’t let me have brought Anna with.  I close my arms around my little belly bump—so I went to hell as is, certainly explain why I feel like this;  now how do I get Anna out of here?  When did Crowley managed to take over hell again? And why isn’t he with Dean?  “Crowley?”  I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look worried before.  “It’s not fair, Anna doesn’t deserve to be in hell.”

 

“Daft as ever, my darling Boy-King.”  I rest a hand on his forehead head and he is cold.  Sam whispers something about hell again, and while we are trapped in outer-suburbia I doubt this is what he means.  He wants Anna out of hell?  This isn’t just half-asleep, this is horribly, though not unexpectedly, ill.  Sam whispers something about Dean.  Of course I’m calling your brother you idiot Winchester; how did their parents conceive two boys so stupid?  I briefly wish I was an Angel and could heal him;  but I have my standards, and Angels are well below them.  Sam is grabbing at me as though he is drowning, I should enjoy this, a Winchester entirely at my mercy.  I should call someone to can actually help him.  I should have done something about getting to Sam earlier.  I search though Sam’ pockets, find his phone, and call Dean.

 

**In the Bugatti:**

 

The phone rings and I recognize Sam’s number.  Thank god, fucking thank god he decided to call.  Except that it’s Crowley, and the first things that Crowley does is spit out a street address, and call me ‘a viscous, selfish, idiot’ which is rich coming from a Demon.  “Where’s Sam?”  What the hell has Crowley done to Sam?  And Crowley tells exactly how Sam is, and points out again that he didn’t do anything to Sam, it would be my fault that Sam is not only close to death, but thinks that he is going to hell, thinks he is in hell;  and is trying to save Anna?   But Crowley sounds genuinely scared, is that bastard in love with Sam?  Is that even possible?  Fuck I must be confused, are we walking into a trap?  I’ll take the bait, Crowley always knows I will, when the bait is Sam.  Yeah, a dying Sam will have me walking into hell, everyone knows that.  I put my foot into it, those Italians certainly knew how to make a machine.

 

“Dean? Dean?”  I rest my hand over the print on his shoulder, “Dean.”  He closes his eyes while travelling at speed…I definitely dislike that, reminds me of my recently acquired mortality.  “You’re not doing anyone any favors by not talking.”  As his grip tightens on the steering wheel; my hand tightens on the mark on his shoulder, I won’t allow him to forget that in some ways he is already mine.  “This isn’t all on you Dean, some of it is on me.  I let the Angels fall, without that Ezekiel would not have been here, he wouldn’t have been seeking a vessel, would not have been driven to create Nephilim, none of this would have happened to Sam.”

 

Yeah, Cas can say that, but this is fate.  There is nothing we can do to stop it, me and Sam.  No matter what I do I nearly kill Sam, first the trials, then stopping the trials, and now this… he may not have Lucifer in him, or me Michael, but his fate is to be destroyed by me, and it just won’t leave him.  Now this…the new anti-christ, Sam will protect her beyond his life;   Sam the failed boy-king of hell, father-mother of the anti-christ;  Sam, always standing in the way of fate, nursing evil. I hit both my hands hard on the wheel and the fine-tuned steering allows the car to veer a little. A baby can’t be evil, what the hell is wrong with me?  Cas pulled me out of hell, but it didn’t do a damn thing, left me to _my_ fucking fate, left me here trying to save my family. 

 

I feel Cas’ hand there, not the print but his hand, when I am absolutely alone.  I doubt I will ever have the courage to tell him.  I imagine, maybe remember, Cas grabbing onto me hell resurrecting me.  I have to remind myself he was under orders, only god’s command and love would make one voluntarily go to hell.  When it’s too hard to go on, when Sam, when Lisa’s and my unborn baby, when Dad, when Bobby, when even Castiel himself, when my family can’t be saved I wish it was love not the word of god that had brought Cas.  I school my face.  I want to believe that in some way the whole damn thing, me and Cas, his hand on my shoulder was meant to be…but it feels like he was meant to save me at the expense of Sam.

 

“Dean?”  He is brooding and travelling fast, in a vehicle that is not altogether familiar to him.  I tighten my hand on his shoulder.  “Crowley is taking us directly to Sam?”  I cock my head involuntarily; it’s a left over Angel thing.  Dean doesn’t contradict me, he flexes his grip on the wheal.  We are apparently using the tracking device, apparently no point in trusting Crowley. I have to agree with Dean.  And Crowley called on Sam’s phone, so for better or worse we know that Crowley is, or has been, with him.  “What did he say Dean?”  Dean looks out the driver’s side window.

 

“He called me an ass.”

 

“What did he say about Sam?”

 

“Just to come.”

 

I can tell Dean is lying, I not a remaining Angel thing, it’s just me and Dean.  “Dean, what did he say about Sam?”  Dean shakes his head, and shifts his shoulder to shrug me off.  I keep my hand on that print, Dean Winchester is, weather he knows it or not, mine.  “Is Sam dying?”  This has always been a possibility, one that has worried me most about not knowing the whereabouts of Sam.  Now Dean blinks away tears, he knows we may finally have destroyed Sam.  “You’re not helping Sam by not telling me.”  Dean still doesn’t look at me, and barely at the road; we listen to the purr of a perfect machine.  If my father had been Italian he would have made these machines, not man.

 

Dean has a short, sharp phone conversation with Crowley.  And then nothing.  I think it would help Dean if he told me.

 

“Why the hell would it help to tell you Cas?  It’s not like you’re going to do anything.”  I flinch back from the anger in Dean’s voice, it is directed at me, it hurts, I don’t believe he would intentionally hurt me, but it hurts.  It hurts that he’s right, I’m human, breakable, mortal, lost, I can’t do anything for Sam. All I can do for Dean is listen; listening to Dean isn’t an Angel thing, it’s an ‘I love Dean thing’.   I wait.  “Crowley called because he thought Sam was bleeding internally.  _Crowley_ is acting freaked out.  Demons don’t save lives.  I don’t trust him with Sam.” I wait quietly for Dean to continue. “And Sammy wouldn’t let him call anyone except me, and Sam is right as few people as possible should know where he is, because the moment Sam is anything except hidden the Angels and Abbadon’s demons come for him.  If they come then for sure we lose them both, or worse.”   By worse I know he means Sam and Anna could be taken who knows where by the Angels, or to hell by Demons.  Dean chews his bottom lip briefly, “If we get there on-time I can give Sam blood, I don’t know if it would be enough, but we’re a match.”  Dean tries to coax more speed out of car, and he can, because when Dean Winchester puts his soul into it he always can. 

 

Cas turns eyes on me.  “We’ll get to him Dean.”  Crap, Cas isn’t an Angel anymore, he can’t promise me we’ll save him, can’t just take us there and save Sam.  “Sam will always forgive you, you should forgive him.”  Dean swallows, he knows exactly what I mean.  “When he confessed during the trials he confessed how he had let you down Dean.  He is the person you love the most,” saying that causes a literal twisting pain in my chest, it is the hardest thing to be human. “but, after Anna, you are also the most loved to him, if he is to be at peace when he goes you need to forgive  him.  He came back to be with you,” that cold pain again, “give him this and let him go with his Anna if that’s what he needs.”

 

“I’ll save him.” Dean mutters between gritted teeth. “And none of what you said means that you aren’t as important to me, he’s my brother, you’re my…”  Dean stops, he doesn’t know what I am to him.  I don’t know what I am to him.  If there are human words for this I can’t find them, or the truth might be I’m afraid of it, I am human, I can chose to not look too closely—it may be too late though, I believe I already love Dean. 

 

I stop talking because neither he or I dare say what feel towards him.  I’m not brave enough to tell Cas that, against my better judgment, my judgment doesn’t appear to be that good anyway, I can’t tell Cas that I love him.  I don’t tell Cas I love him.  I look straight ahead, there is no sign of either rain or of the clouds lifting.

 

“I need you Dean.”  I don’t know how to be human ‘I need you Dean.’  I look straight ahead, the day is cloudy and the roads Dean has chosen are not well travelled, as is so often his decision. “This may not be the right time to tell you, but we may face a host of Angels today, and I wanted that said, before…”  I don’t want to die, when I die I return to a deserted heaven, devastated by my hubris and my stupidity. I don’t want to die, because then I will be without Dean, and I will worry about Dean without me.

 

**Outer Rings of Hell, Conference Room 13b**

“You have a low-jack on Garth’s car?”  Hopefully some tech-savvy Demon will know what that is; sound useful, we may want more.  “He’s moving towards Kansas?” Apparently Garth had talked to Dean and immediately to Sam, which had never happened before.  “Doesn’t appear to be going to the bunker?” “You know exactly where the bunker is?” “You couldn’t find a spell to break the bunker’s wards?”  Brute force may have to do if it comes to that.  “Yes, when we find them I will give you Crowley.  Has a demon ever broken a deal?”

 

**Bugatti:**

Third call from Crowley.  “He can’t feel the baby moving and neither can you?”  I don’t care what Sam or Crowley think, Sammy needs to get to the hospital.  “If Anna is gone Sam is going with her unless he gets is help now.”  Raising my voice at Crowley has never helped, but I do it anyhow.

 

**Deserted house in the outer rings of suburbia:**

 

“Sam!   Sammy!  Dammit Sam! Stay with me!”  I leave the line with Dean open because Sam needs Dean’s help.  For Sam it’s always been Dean, was always Dean, now it’s always going to be Anna.  What about Crowley Sam?  A feel or two for me?  “Dean, I can give him my blood.  He’s Sam Winchester the Boy-King, demon blood will save him.”  Dean is quiet.  “God dammit Squirrel, we are losing Moose, say something!”

 

**Bugatti:**

 

A panicked Crowley should be a good Crowley, but it is frightening.  He scared shitless, he really wants to be told what to do.  “Giving Sam your blood would save him, but…” 

 

Cas grabs the phone from me: “Giving Sam blood from the King of Hell would make Sam the Boy-King again, would make Anna _the_ Anti-Christ, it would destroy everything we have all worked for Crowley.  It would certainly destroy Sam.”

 

I grip her wheel (her speed is all we have on our side) and to try to forget how we’ve found ourselves here.  I try for Cas’ sake, Sammy’s sake if he can hear, to keep my voice even: “Cas, tell Crowley to not even let Sam drink it, Sam went to hell to save the world, there is no question he would do anything he could even it is for only the smallest chance of saving Anna.  Tell Crowley to rest his head on Sam’s belly and see if he can hear Anna’s heart, if the there is anything tell him to wait don’t call anyone, tell him to tell Sammy we are coming.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always feel bad making Kevin dark, but I can't say I see him as evil. What he is doing is avenging his mother's death, but whatever means, not so different than Sam and Dean. The show, I feel, maybe wrongly, never gave Kevin that much agency, other characters get to challenge their fate, Kevin is tied to his.
> 
> Hopefully I'm done with spelling and grammar errors, now that I confessed to gf that I write (well she didn't exactly know about the read thing either) fan-fic I think she can be convinced to beta for me. (Yes, she did something worse than hide a fic habit for years :-))


	10. The things forbidden that while the Customs slept

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean, Crowley, Cas and Garth walk into a house in suburbia... Garth helps out, and Crowley takes an executive decision. And Dean and Cas are so nearly, oh so nearly, in each other's arms. Crowley might want to keep his hands to himself...just my opinion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kevin has taken on a bit of a life of his own. The plot, ah, the plot, I wish I was updating one a week, so I could keep the plot moving along faster...its still there just a little bit at a time.

**In the Bugatti with Cas:**

 

Cas tilts his head, definitely an Angel thing.  “Crap.”  He says.  Cas is, I just like it when Cas curses, it sounds innocent…except that it usually means something disastrous is about to happen, has happened.  “The Angels are talking again, extensively.”  He looks up and away listening…I can see Angel Cas briefly again.  I wonder how much he misses it.  “They,” Cas goes on, “Bartholomew’s thugs, captured a group of demons, and subsequently interrogated them.”  Cas flinches – he never did that as an Angel – it must be pretty bad, probably not as bad as what those Angels have in store for Sam though.  “The demons had been following,” Cas pauses, this whole conversation is filled with silences as Cas makes his way carefully through Enochian, which used to be part of his heaven – his personal hell - his home. “a brown ’77 Chevrolet el Camino, if I understood the description.” Cas is about to continue…

 

 “That’s Garth.”  Cas looks at me startled out of his listening.  _And why in the hell, and how, does Cas know how to identify an El Camino, a 77 El Camino, from a description?_  

 

Cas continues where I interrupted him:  “Kevin Tran is talking to Abbadon, according to her demons,” pause, “if one can believe them,” a few moments of quiet, “the Angels do by the way.”  Cas pauses again, looking concerned.  The demons don’t know Kevin.   “They don’t know Kevin, Dean.”  I do know Kevin, and Kevin wouldn’t have done this to us, to Sam, unless he was being forced. Kevin was ready to help when I was chasing Sam and the baby.  When I was ready to take Anna from Sam?  When I would have led him to Sam and Anna? Damn.  What’s up with Kevin?  “Kevin put a low-jack on Garth’s car.”  Cas adds.  Another one of those long pauses, silent, his mouth just slightly open, lines around his eyes showing in the dirty morning light, as if he was waiting to hear something twice, something that needs to be exactly right:  “Abbadon’s demons have reason to believe Garth is going to Sam.”

 

Dean’s mouth twitches, he leans back, and he forces all the emotion from his face, I’ve seen this a thousand times, I could do it for him.  This is bad, Abbadon’s demons know how to find Sam, and Bartholomew’s Angels are following the remaining demons.  “Abbadon knows, the Angels know, Bartholomew knows, that Anna is an Anti-Christ.”

 

I shove my phone into Cas’ hands:  “Call Garth, and stop him.”

 

“This is Garth Fitzgerald IV, I’m not available…” “You have reached the office of Agent Johnson of the FBI, I’m not available right now…” “You have reached the office of Detective…” “You have reached the personal line of…Texas Ranger…”

 

“Dammit Cas!  You have to…”  I shouldn’t have raised my voice at him.  Cas looks so guilty, and this isn’t his fault, none of this is his fault, he could never have known any of this ahead of time.

 

Dean takes a breath, “Leave a message on every last one of those Cas, and then find more, if he gets to Sam…”  Dean blinks a few moments, and bites his bottom lip.  If Garth gets to Sam the Angels and Demons will, will what?  Neither Dean nor I know if they want the baby dead or alive, or which will be worse.  And as Anna goes, so goes Sam.  “Answer your fucking phone Garth.” Dean mutters under his breath to no one in particular since Garth can’t hear him.  I know that tone of voice, it’s the one he used when he prayed to me, and now he has no one to whom he can pray.  I wish I had given him everything.

 

**The outer reaches of suburbia:**

 

“Sam?”  God-damn you Sam _– come to think of it god did that to you already_ – just open your eyes, you don’t even need to talk to me.  “Moose!”  Nothing.  “You moron Winchester!”  This is a way to kill a Winchester that I hadn’t foreseen; the unfortunate addendum is that I want to save Sam.  I rest a hand quietly on his neck to feel his pulse just under his skin, he isn’t quite gone.  If I were a responsible King of Hell I would just close my hand and finish this – quickly - both for the sake of Hell and for the sake of Sam.  I set my ear to the small bulge in his belly, his muscles are still wonderfully defined - my beautiful Sam - and listen.

 

There is the tiniest heartbeat.  I am embarrassingly ecstatic, not that anyone needs to know, Anna and I will keep this to ourselves.  I gather Sam in my arms – was it absolutely necessary that he choose such a dilapidated shack in which to shelter - even frail and incapacitated the boy is positively enormous.  This hovel has the most god-awful beige-faux-berber rug. “Sam!”  His breathing is increasingly jerky, for a moment or two he is gasping.  _Dammit Dean, I will kill you if you don’t get here on time, and I will do it slowly, and thoroughly, and you won’t come back this time, and you will see why I am the King of Hell._   “Sam!”  I won’t beg, aren’t there some things that I deserve to be spared?  “Sam!”  Now what?  “Anna’s in there, she’s holding on for you.”  He pushes his face against me.  “Sam,” I stroke his hair, “I have you, and I have Anna.”  I can take care of this…what’s the worst that will happen: die and go to hell?  Destroyed by Abbadon?  Losing Sam frightens me more than either: I am in deep trouble here.  I will not think about that as I hold his my beautiful pregnant Sam. I rest my hand on his baby-bump, and wait and wonder if I can feel Anna move yet.  I rub my hand on his belly, run my fingers through his hair, I am quite aware of what Ruby and Lucifer saw in him.  I should just take Sam as mine while he is sweetly unresisting, my precious Boy-King.  Take a moment Crowley:  _I refuse to feel anything toward Sam Winchester other than anger and desire._

 

“Anna is in there Sammy.”  I stroke his long bangs back; run a finger over the dark rings under his eyes. “You’ll be ok now.”  I kiss the tips of my own fingers and press the kiss to his forehead.   _Live you damnable insufferable Moose._

 

**In the Bugatti with Dean:**

 

Not a single answer from Garth, and no way to trace his car, apparently no way – without Charlie - to access his GPS.  Garth is out there, leading the Angels and demons to Sam, and all we can do it wait.  “I could pray.”  Dean – accidentally I believe – swerves the car.

 

“What?”  Dean barks out at me, “Are you insane?”

 

“I don’t believe this could be much worse than it is.  I can call Angels by name. Dean, there might be some Angel willing to help Sam Winchester out there.”

 

He is staring at me:  “Why don’t you just go ahead and kill yourself Cas?  You feel so damn guilty about this that you think throwing your life away is going to make it better?   You’re human now Cas, there isn’t another, there isn’t another,” Dean holds his breath, I can see him pulling himself together, “Cas, if I’m going to lose Sam I can’t, won’t, don’t let me lose you.”  He looks ahead again, hard-eyed -  I can feel him _not_ looking at me.  “Just Cas, be here with me, we can figure this out…”

 

Dean’s phone rings.  “Garth?”  Garth apparently doesn’t answer his phone while he’s driving, because ‘it isn’t safe to talk and drive’.  Dean grabs the phone from me.

 

“Get out of your car and walk away.” “Now.” “Kevin put a low-jack on it, and sold us out to Abbadon.” “Save it Garth.” “There’s always plenty of guilt to go around.” “And the Angels are also onto your car.” “Walk. Away. Now.” “Garth, where the hell are you?” “How can you ‘not quite know’?” “Hot-wire something.” “Ok then, take the fucking bus.” “Yea h, I’ll see you later.” “Or not Garth, this is shaping up to be a real fight.” “Sorry.” “I’m sorry we brought you into this.” “Thank you.”

 

Those last three statements are quiet - everything before was angry.

 

**On a long dark morning in outer suburbia:**

 

I don’t know how long it is since Dean cut off the call.  What I do know is that Sam isn’t getting any better, and that all I can do to save him is give him, feed him my blood.   I know Sam doesn’t want that, and I can respect that.  When did I start respecting what a Winchester wants?  When did _anyone_ start respecting what Sam Winchester wants?  _Where the hell is Dean?_   Can I risk taking some of Sam’s sweet, Demon-Angel-Human blood to call re-enforcements?  More precisely, to call Larry.  If there are demons here when Dean walks in there will be a fight - Sam doesn’t need that.  What Sam needs is all the blood he can get.  Anna’s Grace won’t help them much longer.

 

“Dean?”  Sam is trying to speak again.  “Crowley?”  I try to shush him, but he is Sam, and once he has taken something into his head there is no stopping him.  “Let Dean and Cas take care of her?”  Sam Winchester just waiting to die again.  Typical.  Stupid.

 

“Sam, we can’t save Anna without you…please.  Sam?”

 

“What the fuck Crowley?”  Crowley is literally cradling Sam, whispering sweet nothings in his ear. 

 

“He’s…”  Crowley doesn’t get to finish the sentence, because it’s obvious that Sam is dying.  And it’s too early and without Sam Anna won’t make it yet.  So we save Sam, that’s all there is to it.

 

“We need to do a field transfusion. Crowley?  Cas?  A little help here.”  They both look helpful and helpless.  “My duffel Cas?”    Crowley is still clinging to Sam, not even looking at me, “Crowley, Kevin sold us out, Garth may have bought us some time, but Abbadon and the Angels are coming.”

 

“Damn.”  That’s all that Crowley has to say?  Damn?’ 

 

I am going to beat the shit out of that Demon:  “‘Damn’ Crowley, that’s all you’ve got to say?”

 

“What I meant to say _Dean_ , is that since you can’t take care of anything, I will go out there and kill them myself…after we save Sam.”

 

**Joining us in the dark house on a Grey Suburban Morning, Near the Boarder of Missouri and Kansas and Death:**

 

“Garth?” He must have been pretty close to be here already - which is good and bad at the same time.  Crowley looks at Garth suspiciously.

 

Garth doesn’t bother with either of us.  He walks right on over to Sam, and slaps him hard across the face, “Sam!  Wake up!”  He looks at Crowley, “How long?”  Crowley looks angry and puzzled, “How long has he been like this?”

 

 Crowley takes a deep breath, “He’s been going this way for hours.”  Garth stares at him.  “Ok, I don’t know…”  Crowley sounds exasperated, “I didn’t check.”  Crowley hasn’t let go of Sam.

 

Cas shows back up with my duffle, and at last we can get this show on the road.  For a dentist Garth is remarkable nice about needles. 

 

“Dean?” I’m so tired, and I can only give so much blood to him, and Sam doesn’t truly look any better.  “Dean?”  Cas sits down behind me, and pulls me into his arms, into what had been becoming a comfortable position for me and him.  I’ve missed Cas, being like this with him, I’ve missed letting myself trust him.  I let my face roll onto his shoulder, drift as I lose blood, and wait.

 

Garth looks between me and Dean, and smiles his stupid half grin, and tilts his head a little sideways so he actually looks silly:  “How long?”

 

Truthfully the answer is ‘forever’.  Dean shifts restlessly, “Always.”  He mumbles into my neck. 

 

Garth pats me on the back as he gets up:  “Good luck then.”  I can tell he means it.

 

**Outer Rings of Hell, Conference Room 13b:**

“The Angels what?”  Abbadon is livid, worse than I remember God, not that I saw him much, but there might be an actual difference between heaven and hell.  God was indifferent - Abbadon is setting out to rule the world.  I am glad that I am not the demon in question, it seems Abbadon enjoys making threats.  She turns her attention to me, and doesn’t look happy yet:  “You can hear the other Angels speak?  All of them?”

 

I’m not sure of the correct answer; hell is a land without a map: “What do you need from me?”  The demons have lost Garth, Sam and Anna, Crowley, Castiel and Dean.  Demons have sold out Abbadon to Angels – even after Abbadon’s threats I don’t blame them, I have seen what Angels have done.  Abbadon herself has lost track of Kevin, he left a message about the Angel and Demon tablets and dumped his phone. 

 

I imagine tasting Kevin’s blood on my lips, Crowley’s one-time little play thing. I underestimated him, they all said ‘Winchester, Winchester, Winchester.’  No one said beware of clever Kevin Tran.  If I want the tablets I’m going to have to play along for now, and see if my desperate Angel can help find him, or the tablets, for me.

 

“Yes,” I say to Abbadon, “I can hear them.  I can talk to them.”

 

**Lawrence Hilton, Conference Room 12b:**

 

I snap my phone shut.  At least we have some fix on Ezekiel, some bright little cherub managed to trace his cell phone, which shows he is in hell - they have awful coverage there – in all likelihood telling all to Abbadon. Some half-way competent happily murderous seraphim have cornered and tortured a hand-full of demons, who had been following Garth – Garth Fitzgerald IV?  I have heard he was about as ineffective as my Angels - Garth was driving to Sam, with a low-jack being followed by Demons…the issue though is that Garth dumped the car.   And we have a new problem - Abbadon is working with Kevin Tran.  If Abbadon is _working with_ Kevin does it mean she _has_ Kevin Tran and does that mean she _has_ the Angel or Demon tablet, both?  Does she have the prophet actually in her hands or the prophet is in the proverbial wind? 

 

The thought of the tablet and the prophet is trivial consolation for having lost track of the Impala, and now lost Garth and with him Sam Winchester and his abomination.  I turn my attention to the (remaining) Angels in the room:  “Find them, kill them…and then find Kevin Tran.”  I wonder if this group of Angels will be as insufferable incompetent as the last; I am only grateful that Abbadon’s demons seem no better.  It seems she and I are in for a frustrating battle.

 

It’s quite simple whoever has the anti-christ, the prophet, and the tablet wins. 

 

 

**Dark House on a Grey Suburban Morning:**

 

Garth shakes his head, “Sam’s not much better.”  And I hear what he is not saying:  “Dean can’t give, can’t take much more.”  We are all edgy, anxious.  Crowley is our only real weapon with Sam and Dean down, of course there is Garth, and like this, without my Grace, I am useless to them. 

 

“I need to talk to you, Garth.”  Crowley hasn’t spoken since his earlier exchange with Garth, “Alone.”  I can’t stand, and clearly neither can Sam, and Cas seems to be taking care of things.  _Yes Garth and Crowley should go outside and talk, but not alone, Cas will be coming with them_.  I don’t quite know how he expects me to take care of Sam. 

 

“Lie down Sam.”  That’s Crowley’s voice.  “Dean, be brotherly, hold the Moose’s hand.” 

 

**Outside at high noon in Despairing Middle-America:**

I walk out into the bleakness all set about with Cottonwood trees.  Crowley and Garth are hissing at one-another, not seeing me.  Crowley shakes his head, “I’m not risking Sam.”  There is an awkward pause, where both Crowley and Garth look at him.  “Boys, listen to me we need to buy Sam time.”  I don’t trust where Crowley is going with this, and, I don’t like how close Crowley is with Sam.  “Sam chose.  He won’t let Anna to be _the_ Anti-Christ, even if it means letting them go.”  Crowley is apparently set on following Sam’s rules. 

 

“There’s nothing we can do for them?”  Garth is blinking back tears.

 

“Unless Sam draws on her Grace.”  Crowley adds. 

 

_“Her grace is all that is sustaining them.”_ Crowley knew that, but Garth looks surprised.Her Grace can be redirected...I had hoped no-one else would become aware of this possibility. Using it comes with a great deal of risk, and Sam being Sam, he could use it accidently.  He needs to be actively discouraged from it.  “Her grace may already not be enough by itself, and if it were accidently re-directed...” the result would be – I cannot allow Dean to suffer that loss.

 

“Using it could kill both of them.” Crowley snarls. “Sam is gravely ill, according to our friend here at the door of Death – again - her isn’t Grace is enough for both of them.”  Anger flashes across Crowley’s features.  He composes himself and rolls his eyes:  “Admit it boys, we need help, and the Winchesters are out of friends.  You need my demons to keep all of you impudent idiots safe.” 

 

The next thing I know Crowley’s arm is around my neck and Sam’s knife is to my throat. “Awfully sorry, Castiel, but this is our only choice,” he is breathing on my cheek, rubbing his stubble against mine.  Garth’s mouth is dropped open in horror.  “I was going to borrow a drop or two from your friend here but yours will do fine.” 

 

I realize that Crowley wants human blood.  The blade feels cold but it doesn’t cut deep. 

 

“Larry?”  “We have a little problem.”  “Yes, here and right now.” “Obviously.” “Of course you’ll feel that way.” “Naturally you will.”

 

These idiots have dropped the proverbial ball again and again and again, and repeatedly:  how many people have accidentally started the apocalypse?  Tried and failed to be God?  Loosed the monsters of Purgatory? Botched locking the gates of hell when they had it in their grasp?  Dean getting Sam pregnant by an Angel?  Loosing track of their prophet?  The comedy of errors that is fated to be the Winchester Gospel goes forever on.  They appear to have been cast aside by their own destiny.

 

I won’t leave Sam’s fate for them mishandle. _I will not let Sam Winchester be a victim of an absent angry god._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you lovely readers for reading. I will love you extra if you leave a review? Oh, and I'm new to SPN fandom, so please have mercy? And very new to Destiel (I ship it for a friend). And, short chapters, kinda my thing. Already changed from what I originally posted on FF, the time line was rapidly becoming a problem.


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